The Art of Balance
by SciFiNutTX
Summary: Dedicated to and written for charis-kalos. Dean 21, Sam 16. Sam is given a writing assignment in English class which leads him to make unsettling discoveries about his family. Complete
1. Ch 1: The Assignment

The awesome charis-kalos has reason to celebrate! She asked me to write a fic just for her and I couldn't possibly say no because, well, she's been just so wonderful to me. Reverend Doctor, congrats from all of us on your ordination!! This fic is dedicated solely to you.

(See? There's a great reason she's my theological advisor on L&D!)

I expect to update this fic weekly, barring massive computer and internet issues.

**The Art of Balance**

**Chapter One**

**The Assignment**

Sam sat in his English class, trying hard not to growl. He was not upset with the class, his classmates or the teacher. It was that stupid, stubborn, arrogant, asshole of a brother of his. He blew his bangs out of his eyes as he watched the teacher write the new essay assignment on the board.

"Write a compare/contrast essay." The class groaned and the teacher smiled. "But this time, I want something a little different from you, class." The groan grew louder. "I want you to compare and contrast two of your family members."

Sam scribbled down the assignment with a vengeance. The paper tore under the assault of his ballpoint. He swore softly to himself, ripping the page out and starting again on the next page. Sam felt his stomach twist into a knot as he wrote down the assignment. All around him he heard classmates whisper about comparing parents to grandparents, themselves to their siblings, mothers and fathers to aunts and uncles. Sam had very few choices to make, but maybe that made his choice more difficult. Should he compare himself with Dean, himself with Dad, or Dad and Dean? Sam huffed a sigh, again blowing his long brown bangs out of his eyes.

He picked up his full backpack and swung it over his shoulder as the last bell rang. Sam headed to the front of the school where his stupid brother was supposed to pick him up in that damn car. He was sixteen now, why didn't he have a car, too? Dad gave Dean the Impala. Where was his car?

Sam knew he was being slightly irrational as he looked for the sleek black car, which was nowhere in sight, but he did not really care at the moment. Where was Dean? His eyes scanned the cars lined up to pick up other students. No Dean. No Impala. Sam's teeth ground together as he dropped his backpack on the grass and sat down to wait. No buses went by their motel, so either Dean picked him up or Sam was walking. He hoped Dean had not forgotten.

That was not fair. Dean forget to pick him up? Never. Now, Dean might be busy getting some girl's phone number and running late, but he would never just forget. Sam sighed, digging through his bag. At least he could do a little homework while he waited. He pulled out his math book and started solving the homework problems while he waited.

By the time he had finished his math homework all of the waiting cars were gone and only the students participating in after-school activities were around. Sam's eyebrows drew together. This was really not like Dean. He shoved his irritations over his brother to the back of his mind, worry taking their place. Where was Dean? Sam crammed his completed math work back into his bag and stood. Now that the student parking lot was mostly empty, Sam was able to spot the black car parked in the far corner.

All the irritation flooded back instantly. Sam stormed through the parking lot, a fully formed lecture already in his mind. The car looked empty. He leaned over to peer through the window. There was Dean, spread out on the front seat asleep. Sam banged on the window.

Dean bolted upright. He looked around rapidly, his eyes unfocused and wide open. Sam banged on the window again. As Dean looked at Sam, his eyes focused and a slight grimace came over his face.

"Dean?" Sam shouted at the closed window.

Dean unlocked the passenger door before sliding back behind the wheel. Sam stalked around the car, threw his bag in the floorboard before slamming the door shut.

"Hey! Watch the door!" Dean snapped.

"Were you out here sleeping this whole time?" Sam demanded.

"Whole time?" Dean checked his watch. His irritation faded a little when he saw the time. "Is that the real time?" Dean tapped his watch and held it up to his ear.

"Yes, that's the real time! You're an hour late!"

Dean shrugged with his left shoulder and started the car.

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and stared out the front windshield. He refused to look at his brother right now. What a jerk! No apology or anything.

"Feel like pizza tonight?" Dean asked as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Sam refused to answer. Instead he brought out his history book so he could hide behind it.

"Come on, Sam. I was early, so I figured I'd take a nap. That's all. Sammy?"

"It's Sam!" he bit back.

"Well, at least you're talking to me now," Dean said as they waited at the light. "Homework?"

"Yeah."

Dean sighed. "I meant, what homework do you have?"

Sam's jaw clenched as he stared over his book at the taillights of the car in front of them. "I finished my math while you napped. I have a little history and an English paper due Monday."

"What's the paper on?" Dean had a total disregard for history class. If they could not be bothered to teach myths and legends, which was the only history he considered useful, then he could not be bothered to pay attention. Apparently the same rules applied for Sam's homework.

Sam buried his nose in his history book.

"Sammy? What's your paper about?"

Sam turned the page, pretending to be engrossed in his history text. Truth be told, it was one of the most boring textbooks he had ever had and this particular chapter Sam had already covered in his last two schools. But it was convenient.

Dean sighed again. Sam knew that the silent treatment annoyed Dean more than just about anything. He fully intended to keep it up as long as possible. He sneaked a peek at his brother out of the corner of his eye. Dean's face was twisted in pain.

"Dean? You okay?" The history book dropped, forgotten.

Dean took a deep breath and smiled. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be? Pizza tonight?"

"Are you messing with me?" Sam demanded.

"Why? What do you mean?" Dean turned innocent eyes on Sam. Sam was not buying it.

"Are you in pain?" Sam asked, concern outweighing irritation.

"Nah! Unless you count the constant pain in my ass."

"What pain?" He was starting to get worried.

"You," Dean replied, beaming.

Sam groaned, reaching down to retrieve his book. "Fine."

"What's fine?"

"Pizza. But I get to order this time."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Really? Just like that?"

Dean shrugged his left shoulder again. "I was late. It's only fair."

Fair? Dean Winchester was worried about being fair? Maybe he wasn't hurt, maybe he was sick. Sam reached over, intending to feel his brother's forehead.

"Hey! Watch it!" Dean batted away the probing hand. "What the hell?"

"I just wanted to see if you have a fever," Sam protested.

"Dude! I'm fine!" Dean shot him a glare. "You try that again and I'm ordering anchovy pizza. Nothing but anchovy."

"Fine!" Sam buried his nose back in his textbook.

"What kind of essay?" Dean turned at the light, heading toward their cheap motel.

"Compare and contrast," Sam admitted reluctantly. As bad of a mood as Dean had been in lately, his brother showing some interest in school was kind of nice.

Dean laughed. "Boy, I sure don't miss those. I think the last one I did like that was either dogs versus cats or werewolves versus vengeful spirits."

Sam spun around to see if his brother was serious. "You didn't!"

Dean nodded. "Yep, I think I did. Earned me a visit to the district child psychologist. Boy, was Dad pissed!" He chuckled at the memory. "I think that was the year we moved three times inside of two months."

Sam's jaw dropped. "That was because of you?"

"Dude, chill," Dean's eyes slipped over his annoyed brother's face. "I made sure all your school records made it, didn't I?"

Sam's jaw was working, but nothing came out. He finally snapped it shut, unsure why he was so upset. He always felt upset these days, and he tended to take it out on Dean. Maybe that was the reason Dean had been so moody this past week.

"We're here." Dean said as he shut off the car.

Sam grabbed his backpack to follow his brother, careful to lock the car door before closing it. He might have been irritated with Dean, but Sam did not have a death wish. He was so consumed with thinking about his paper, he did not notice the black truck in the parking lot.

"Hey, Dad!"

Sam's head snapped up. Dad was here? Oh, crap. There went hiding behind homework and eating pizza all night.

"Boys!" Their father's gruff voice greeted them warmly. He held both arms open, expecting his sons to run straight into them. Neither did.

Sam shot Dean a surprised look. When did Dean ever hesitate in front of their father?

"Dean! Sam!" Dad's hands waved them closer. Sam was shocked to find that he actually passed Dean approaching Dad. Sam returned his father's large hug then stood aside to watch Dean.

Dean chuckled with a half-hearted smile. "Dad. You're early. We weren't expecting you for a couple of weeks."

"Decided to take a short break. Visit my boys." Dad's face broke in a wide smile. "Dean? Where's my hug?"

Sam noticed that Dean practically drug his feet towards Dad. He leaned into the hug with his left shoulder and slapped Dad on the back a couple of times before pulling away. "We were talking about pizza. Want to join us?"

"Nah," Dad shook his head, "I thought we could all go out to dinner. We have something to celebrate."

"What's that, Dad?" Dean stepped back, out of reach.

Dad looked more than a little puzzled. "Isn't it someone's birthday?"

Dean frowned. "No. Sammy's birthday isn't for a few more months."

Sam slapped himself in the forehead. Of course! No wonder Dean was so moody! Sam had completely forgotten his birthday! "Oh, man, I forgot! Dean, I am so sorry! No wonder you've been mad at me."

Now Dad's eyes darted from one of his sons to the other. "Dean? Is that true? Have you been angry with your brother?" Sam noticed the tone, the one that said 'you're supposed to be watching out for Sam, not picking on him.'

"No, Dad," Dean shrugged his left shoulder. "I haven't been mad at Sam. He's doing great in school and practice, too. Got a little pissed at me today, though."

"Oh?" Dad's voice was guarded, like he was trying to decide if this was normal bickering or something more.

Dean looked away. "I was, uh, a little late picking him up." Sam rolled his eyes. Leave it to Dean to point out his own short-comings. Dad would have bought that they were just bickering.

"Sam? How long did you have to wait for your brother?" Dad's tone was severe.

"Not too long, Dad. Really. It was no problem." Sam said in a hurried defense of his brother, whom seconds ago he had been ready to throttle.

"If it was no problem," Dad's dark eyes bored into him, "then why were you pissed?"

Sam chewed the inside of his cheek. Then Dean turned those green headlights on him, too. Sam hated when Dean did that, it made it almost impossible to lie. Almost. "I, uh, didn't have a great day. I guess I took it out on Dean." He stared down at his sneakers. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Well, that's better," Dad's voice was light again. "So? Dinner?" Dad was gripping his shoulder. Sam looked up into those dark eyes and understood; Dad thought this was just how brothers acted. Sam knew better. He and Dean were not like most brothers, there was definitely something going on here. Something Dean was unwilling to admit, and that was a challenge which Sam could not possibly pass up.


	2. Ch 2:Sam has a clue about his paper

Thanks for the warm response to chapter one. We really appreciate it! Now here is chapter two. (I know I promised some of you the answer to whether or not Dean has been injured here, but it isn't. Sorry! There is an answer coming, I swear, just not yet.)

**Chapter Two**

**Sam has a clue about his paper**

The whole way to Dean's favorite place, which was the type of burger joint that had sawdust on the floor and was littered with peanut shells, Dean talked nonstop about how well Sam was doing in school. Sam could feel the heat in his face as Dean's voice droned on. He fidgeted in the backseat, watching his brother and his father talk about him. The way Dean was bursting with pride at Sam's academic accomplishments and the way his father just listened stoically, only making an occasional nod or comment along the lines of "uh-huh" or "that's good" made Sam start thinking about his paper.

He had grabbed a spiral notebook and pen on the way out of the hotel room. He opened it now. On the first blank page he found he wrote 'Compare.' Then he turned the page and drew a line down the center. On one side of the line he wrote 'Dean' and on the other 'Dad.' Under the Dean column he made notes like "proud of me". Under Dad's column he wrote "seems to tolerate me". Then he flipped back to the compare page and wrote "hunters," "excited about hunting," "care about me," and "work to protect me." He turned back to his contrast page. Under Dad he wrote "treats me like a kid" while under Dean he wrote "treats me like his brother". Sam chewed on the end of his pen, considering his options. He knew he would not be able to use everything he had written down, but it was mostly just to organize his thoughts.

"Sam!" his father's voice jarred Sam from his thoughts.

"Yes, sir?"

"I asked you about Latin class. How's the teacher?" his father glanced in the rearview mirror at him.

Sam shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Pastor Jim teaches the pronunciation better, but she does okay with the grammar."

He saw his father frown in the mirror. "Your teacher's pronunciation isn't right? Do I need to pay a visit to that school?"

"No, sir," Sam answered quickly. The last thing he wanted was his father harassing one of his teachers. It was bad enough when Dean had to go up there, which Sam tried to make sure was not often. "I think she's just using a more modern pronunciation. It's okay, I still know the right way to say it."

He could see his father's frown in the mirror. "Not sure I like it, Sammy."

Sam chose to say nothing. His father already planned to leave in the morning, why say anything that might change his mind?

"We've been practicing his pronunciation in the evenings, Dad," Dean interjected, casting a worried glance at Sam. "He's doing great. Sammy might get an A- instead of an A+ this time, but I think we can deal with that." Sam smiled to himself. Dean couldn't understand a single word of Latin, but he probably spoke and read it better than the Pope.

Dad nodded, saying nothing. He pulled up in front of Dean's favorite restaurant, his face critical. "Here?"

"Yes, sir. This is it!" Dean said enthusiastically. Sam couldn't blame him. Their family wasn't exactly big on celebrating birthdays, especially Dean's.

The truck stopped just outside a place that could only hesitantly be called a restaurant. Neon signs blinked in the grimy windows and several drunks loitered outside. Smoke billowed out the front door when Dean opened it, grinning broadly. The floor was coated with sawdust and discarded peanut shells.

Dad swept the place with a critical eye as Dean rushed off to get them a table. "Come here often, son?" he asked Sam quietly.

"Yeah. It's Dean's favorite place. Don't worry, the food isn't too bad."

His father cocked an eyebrow at that one, but did not question him. They both looked over at Dean's waving left arm way in the back, near the exit. Dad mumbled under his breath something Sam could not catch before leading the way to Dean's table. Sam carried his notebook inside, trailing his father. Dean was chatting with a striking redheaded waitress. Sam found himself staring until his father nudged him gently in the ribs.

Dean slid into the booth, making room for his father on the aisle. Sam slid into the booth opposite Dean, while his father took his seat beside Dean. Sam opened the notebook on his knees, under the table. He flipped to Dad's column to write 'observes me carefully.' He thought for a moment before adding under Dean's column 'flirt'.

"Sammy, what are you doing?" Dean was glaring at him. "Come on, take the night off. Dad's here."

Sam gave him a little grin before closing his notebook. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay," Dad shook his head at Dean. "If Sam needs to do a little school work, that's fine. You might have had better grades if you had taken your work with you occasionally."

Sam laughed at the expression on Dean's face, opening his notebook back up. Under Dad's column he added 'can tease Dean without ramifications.' Sam wondered if their father was the only person who could do that.

"So what are you working on, Sammy?"

"Compare and contrast paper." Sam told him. He watched his father's face darken.

"What?" Sam asked, startled by the sudden change in mood. He wasn't even trying for that reaction.

"You're not planning on doing it on werewolves and spirits, are you?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Sam watched Dean grin broadly. His brother had no shame.

"No, sir."

John let out a deep breath. "Good. I really don't want to go through that again." He rolled his eyes. "You have no idea the trouble your brother caused with that one."

Sam chuckled at Dean's expense, but Dean was still beaming.

"At least I'm never boring," his brother boasted. "I'm going to check out the jukebox." He nudged their father to let him out. As his right shoulder touched his father's, a flash of pain crossed Dean's face that Sam did not miss. Sam's eyes widened, watching Dean carefully as he got out of the booth.

"What?" Dean snapped at Sam, harsher than usual.

Sam looked away, shrugging. When Dean was out of earshot, their father leaned on the table, staring at Sam.

"Sammy, is something wrong with Dean?"

He looked up into his father's dark eyes and instead of the hollow coldness he had become accustomed to seeing, Sam saw worry and concern etched there. "I think Dean's hurt," he heard himself admitting.

"Explain." It was a military order and the command rankled Sam, but he understood this time.

"Dean's been really moody for about a week. Today when he was driving me back after school," Sam paused, realizing that the word 'home' was not in the Winchester vocabulary, "I noticed he looked like he was really hurting. But a minute later he seemed fine."

"So you don't know what happened."

Sam made a face. "As if Dean would tell me anyway."

His father nodded seriously. "Well, you do have a point there. Do me a favor? Keep an eye on him?"

Sam felt his eyes widen again. Him? Keep an eye on Dean? Was Dad serious? Unable to trust his voice, Sam slowly nodded.

"Good." Dad sat back. He glanced over to see Dean hunched over the jukebox. "And you call me the minute you find out if there's anything wrong. Understood?"

Sam nodded again. "Yes, sir." He did not need the warning tone in his father's voice to tell him that Dad was worried. He looked down at the list in his lap. In the column under 'Dad', Sam added 'worries about both of us' and in the Dean's column he added 'worries about me and Dad.' Sam frowned, flipped back to the compare page and wrote 'worries about the family with no regard for self,' he paused and added 'stubborn'.

"Sammy!" Dean was back, glaring at the notebook in Sam's lap. Apparently he had been hoping for some Sam-Dad bonding while he was gone. Sam decided that Dean would just have to learn to live with disappointment. Dean groaned, pushing in next to Dad. Their father started to say something but seemed to think better of it, sliding over so Dean could sit next to the aisle. A busty blonde waitress walked by about that time, drawing all of Dean's attention.

"Now I understand what you meant," Dad said to Sam.

Sam grinned at the rare shared understanding as Dean's head whipped around. "Huh? What?"

"So, what's good here, son?" Dad picked up a menu covered with stains and spills.

"Pretty much everything, Dad." Dean's eyes were alight. You might have thought it was Christmas morning and he had the biggest pile of presents from Santa, ever, the way he was beaming.

Sam leaned forward as Dean was distracted by another waitress. "Burgers," he whispered to his father.

Dad smiled and winked at Sam. Sam let out the breath he had been holding. He had assumed his father would not listen even to that little piece of advice, considering how much they argued lately. The red-headed waitress was back with two beers and a soda for Sam. Sam's stomach twisted as he watched his father accept the beer with a gracious smile.

"To your twenty-first birthday, son!" John held up his brown bottle. Dean and Sam joined in the toast. Sam still felt guilty about forgetting. How could he have forgotten? It's not like he had that many birthdays to keep up with, after all.

The burgers were actually well cooked, for a change. As he watched his father and brother down several more beers, Sam felt obliged to speak up. "Um, I do have school in the morning. Shouldn't we be heading back?" _'While someone is still sober enough to drive?'_

Dean frowned then shook his head. "Sammy's right, Dad. He has class in the morning."

"Oh, come on! It isn't every day one of my boys turns twenty-one!" John slapped the table. "One more beer!"

"No, Dad," Dean's voice was soft, meant for his father's ears alone. "Sam needs his sleep. We can always grab a six-pack on the way back."

Dad nodded, more to himself than Dean. Sam noticed Dean did not suggest a twelve-pack.

* * *

Sam's feet hung off the edge of the camping bed. Dean liked to tell him it was made for normal people, but Sam thought it must have been made for midgets. He knew Dean's feet hung off the end too. The camp bed fabric cut into his calves, causing little pinpricks to savage his feet. Unable to sleep, Sam sat up. He pulled on his jeans as quietly as he could. Years spent in cramped quarters had made Sam an expert at moving quietly around his dad and brother. On his way to the door, he grabbed his spiral notebook.

Outside it was quiet. Sam glanced both ways before sitting down next to their door and leaning against the cool brick wall. He propped up his knees, setting his notebook open. He reread his entries from earlier as he chewed on his pen cap. On the Compare page he added 'tough,' 'smart,' and 'unstoppable.' He flipped to his Contrast page. This was more difficult. He knew both his Dad and Dean lived for the hunt, it seemed to define them. But why?

Plastic gave way under his gnawing teeth, crumpling slowly as he thought. With an uncertain hand, he put 'revenge' under Dad and 'saving people' under Dean. He was not sure that was entirely fair, but it certainly seemed accurate.

When the door to their room opened slowly, Sam sighed, closing his notebook. He figured it was Dean, coming to tell him to get his ass back inside. Sam was surprised when he looked up to see his father's massive frame hovering over him.

"Dad?"

"Sammy. What's going on?" His father slid down the wall to sit next to him.

Sam shrugged. In the clear and silent night, somehow he did not feel his usual anger. A car drove by a few blocks away, the whine of its motor breaking the silence between them.

"Working on your essay?" Dad picked up the spiral notebook.

"No! Don't!" The words were out before Sam could snatch them back. He wished there was a way of catching spoken words after they had hit the air.

Dad cocked one eyebrow at him. "Well, this must be good, then." He opened the notebook and flipped through the pages until he found the one labeled Compare. He read through the list without comment then the next page, Contrast. He held out one hand for Sam's pen. Feeling guilty, Sam handed over the pen without looking his father in the eye. He heard his father scratching something out and writing. Then the page turned and his father wrote something else. He handed the closed notebook back.

"You are pretty observant, son," was all his father said. They sat side by side for some time, staring out at the dark sky which lacked stars due to the city lights.

"I came out to thank you for volunteering to sleep on the camp bed." Dad chuckled after a moment. "Dean didn't seem very happy about it, though, did he?"

Sam sighed. "He knows I can't sleep on it. I'd be better off on the floor, to be honest. Those things are made for midgets."

Dad chuckled again. "Next time I'm in an army surplus store I'll be sure to ask about an extra-large. What does Dean call you?"

One side of Sam's mouth twisted up. "Sasquatch."

"That's right. I'll see if they have a sasquatch-size." Dad let out a deep breath, head tilting back to rest against the brick. "You know, it seems like only yesterday you and Dean were just little guys. Of course, Dean wasn't ever really little, not since your mother died," his voice trailed off. Sam said nothing, hoping his father would continue. Dad cleared his throat. "He grew up too fast. Was never really allowed to be a kid, you know? But he did everything he could to make sure you could." His dad looked at him with moist eyes. "That should be under Compare. We've both been responsible for raising you. But under Contrast, that Dean's the better parent."

Sam watched in shocked silence as Dad pushed a hand against the brick wall to help himself up.

"Dad, I never…" Sam protested.

"I know son. But I'm not stupid and I'm not blind. Dean looks after both of us. I know I could not have survived the past," his eyes bored into Sam, "sixteen years without him." Sam felt guilt over his mother's death wash over him, threatening to pull him under and drown him. Then something else strange happened. His dad reached down and tousled his hair, something he had not done in years. "Don't stay out here too long, kiddo. If Dean wakes up and you're not in there, he'll freak."

"Yes, sir." Sam's mind was in a whirl of confusion. As his father went quietly back inside, Sam reached for his notebook. He opened it up to Compare. Where Sam had written 'cares about me' his father had scratched out the words 'cares about' and written in 'loves.' Underneath that he had written 'Proud' and 'Sam's parents.' Sam swiped at his eyes as he turned the page to Contrast. Under Dad's column, in Dad's handwriting, were the words 'angry,' 'vengeful,' and 'worried.' That one bothered Sam more than a little. Why was Dad so worried? Under Dean's column his Dad had written 'confident,' 'bold,' 'responsible,' and 'caring,' and next to 'proud' made an arrow with a note 'see Compare.' For a brief moment Sam wished he had decided to compare himself with one of them. He would have liked to know more of what his father thought of him.

Sam closed his notebook, breathing the night air in deeply. He wished he could just sit out here all night, enjoying the peacefulness of darkness without creatures and spirits trying to kill him. But he knew his father was right, Dean would go into full scale red-alert if Sam was not in the room when he woke up. So Sam slipped back inside, careful not to allow any light to fall on his brother's face. He crept to his camp bed situated between the real beds, leaving his jeans on. He hoped the jeans would help prevent the tight fabric cutting off the circulation to his feet. Within moments of closing his eyes, Sam felt sleep finally overtaking him.


	3. Ch 3:Truth and Consequences

Ah, you folks are awesome! Here is this week's installment. You've been wanting to know if Dean is really hurt, how and why. Read on!!

**Chapter Three**

**Truth and Consequences**

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!" Dean's cheerful voice was more than Sam could handle this early in the morning. He blinked heavy eyelids, trying to focus on his older brother's far too cheerful face.

"What's wrong with you?" Sam grumped.

Dean's bright teeth flashed at Sam. "Nothin', princess. What's wrong with you?"

"Come on, boys," their father's voice boomed in the tiny room. "Breakfast is on me. Get ready. Move!"

Moving automatically to his father's drill sergeant's voice, Sam dragged himself to the bathroom. He locked himself inside to shower, not trusting Dean to leave him alone long enough for even a quick wash. Sure enough, as the hot water started doing its job of waking him, there was a loud pounding on the door. Sam ignored it. When he finished showering, he wrapped a towel around his waist and stepped out. Dean rushed past him, slamming the door in his face.

Sam grimaced when a new description for his paper occurred to him. He rushed over to his notebook even before dressing to scribble under Dean's column 'acts selfish.' He thought for a moment before following that with 'would kill for us.' Under Dad's column he wrote 'never selfish,' but immediately under that 'always working.' That line of thought made him write 'likes to party/have fun' under Dean's column.

"Sam? I think your paper can wait at least until you're dressed," his father's voice was soft, which was so unusual these days.

Sam spun around. He had nearly forgotten Dad was there. Sam nodded, dropping his notebook to dress. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his father leaf through it again, but Dad did not pick up a pen this time. Sam dressed quickly, not wanting to be caught in just a towel when his brother came out.

Breakfast was uneventful, for a change. Mostly Dean and Dad talked about Dad's case, where to look for leads, and how the Impala was doing. Sam kept his mouth shut not wanting to start any arguments, especially after his odd encounter with his father last night. Sam wondered as he poked at his overdone eggs, with crispy brown edges that turned to black at the very end, why Dad had not reamed him for what he had written in his notebook. Maybe because it was all true?

They dropped Dad off at the motel after breakfast. Dad said he needed to hit the road, that he couldn't afford to waste any more time. Dean looked a little down as he drove Sam to school.

"Dean, I am so sorry," Sam apologized again in the car on the way to school. Dean didn't look too good this morning. His face was a little pale and his eyes were red-rimmed. Considering the fact his brother got to sleep in a real bed, he should have looked better.

"Don't sweat it, Sammy. It's no problem." Dean was driving using just his left hand. He must have thought it looked cool.

"No, Dean. It is a problem," Sam pressed. "I shouldn't have forgotten. I only have yours and Dad's birthdays to keep track of, there's no excuse."

"Sure there is," Dean said as he swung the Impala around the curved drive in front of the school.

"What excuse?" Sam demanded, his hand gripping his schoolbag as he stared into his brother's hazy green eyes.

"Moving. Again."

Sam did not understand what his brother meant. They had moved here two weeks ago.

"Don't worry about it, Sammy. Dad forgot, too. Why do you think he showed up out of the blue to take us out to dinner? Hurry up, you'll be late for class. I'll try to be on time today."

Sam stepped out of the car, puzzled. The instant the door was closed, Dean pulled away from the curb to join the line of cars waiting to leave school grounds. Dad forgot too? Slinging the backpack over one shoulder, Sam raced to his first class, history. In his history classroom there was a large calendar on one wall with all their assignments and due dates posted on it. Sam rushed over to it without bothering to set down his books first. His finger found Dean's birthday. His other hand grabbed a passing student.

"Quick!" Sam said, without looking to see who it was, "what's today's date?"

"The fifth," came a gruff reply.

Sam slammed his forehead against the wall. That meant Dean's birthday was the day they had arrived here. The same day Dean had enrolled him in school. The same day Dad announced he was leaving for a hunt and did not know for certain when he would be back. The same day Dean had dogged his principal all day long to be sure Sam was placed in the correct classes so he would not waste any time. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, willing the knowledge away.

"Mister Winchester? I believe that was the bell. Take your seat."

Sam started. He had not heard the bell. With downcast eyes, he made his way to his seat near the back of the classroom.

"Mister Winchester? Since you must be prepared for class today, perhaps you would like to answer the first question." That was not a question. "Which president said "To be prepared for war is one of the most effectual means of preserving peace? ""

Sam looked at his teacher. "George Washington," he replied simply.

"Very good, Mister Winchester. Or was that just a good guess?" The smug look on his teacher's face was more irritating than his brother.

"January 8, 1790," Sam snapped back. Watching the smug look replaced by shock was worth the annoyed looks of his classmates. After all, who cared if he showed everyone else up? They would probably be moving again soon anyway.

Sam walked through the rest of his classes in a haze, until English. The teacher was droning on about some intricacy of grammar when Sam felt something poke him in the ribs. He shifted in his seat, hoping to move out of the way. Then it poked him again, several times. He moved his hand under that arm, figuring he could catch whatever it was. A pencil jabbed his finger. Sam nearly yelped out loud, but a lifetime of military discipline and fighting techniques had taught him how to hold in that type of thing.

Sam looked back over his shoulder at the boy sitting behind him, Justin. Justin was a sophomore, like Sam, but looked much older and bigger. Sam had wondered if the kid had not been held back – about four times. Justin was on the junior varsity football team and used every excuse to wear his jersey he could find. Sam found him slightly annoying, but that was only in comparison with Dean. Comparisons aside, Sam figured Justin was probably really, really annoying. He certainly was right now.

Justin was grinning at Sam, waggling a pencil. He had to be the culprit. Sam turned back around, intending to return his attention to the teacher. Then there was another jab in his ribcage. Sam ground his teeth, his jaw clenching with irritation. He turned back around to face Justin.

"What's wrong with you?" Sam hissed.

"It's not me, man," Justin replied, smiling widely.

Sam continued to stare. He was so sick of lies. His life was full of lies and lying. He could not remember an honest time that had not been forced, like Dean admitting everyone had forgotten his birthday. He felt his jaws pressing together so tightly a twinge of pain ran from his chin to his ear. He took a single calming breath before attempting to return his attention to the English class.

"Yo, Mister Moore?" Justin shouted from behind Sam.

Sam's shoulders stiffened. He knew no good could come of this.

"Yes, Justin?" Mister Moore paused in his lecture, face reflecting his surprise to be interrupted by Justin. Justin normally went out of his way to avoid speaking in this class.

"I got a sentence that needs correcting."

"Was that it, Justin?" Mister Moore smiled as the better students in class chuckled, with the exception of Sam. Sam had a bad feeling.

"Huh?"

"Go ahead, Justin. What is the sentence?"

Sam imagined he could hear the smile on Justin's face. "Sam's got an idiot brother who drives a piece-o-shit black car. How do you fix that, Mister Moore?" Justin chuckled as if he had just told the greatest joke ever.

Sam spun around, glaring at Justin.

"Whassamatta, Sammy? No big brudder around?" Justin made a big production of looking from side to side. "Nope. The loser is probably out sleeping in the parking lot 'cause he lost his job!"

Sam stood up.

"Gentlemen! Justin, you will report to the principal's office immediately! Sam, sit down!"

That sounded an awful lot like an order to Sam, and he was pretty fed up with people giving him orders. Justin was still grinning as he reached down for his books. Sam's hand developed a mind of its own. It lashed out, knocking Justin's books away, scattering papers with the occasional scrawl across the floor. Sam wanted to look down at it in shock, but he knew breaking eye contact signaled defeat.

Justin's mouth had been curved up, mocking him. But now the thin lips straightened out into a tight line, devoid of color. Justin was sizing him up, but Sam knew better. He doubted he would even break a sweat.

Justin telegraphed every movement. Sam knew when and how Justin would throw his punch, maybe even before Justin did. Sam blocked blow after blow, one part marvelling at how well his training really did work and the other part of him deciding how best to end this. Justin did not fight with the cold, detached precision of his brother. Justin was a passionate fighter, which meant he had no real experience. Sam let the bigger boy work himself up, becoming really angry, before landing the final blow. It was a move Dean taught him only last year. Instead of using your fist, use your elbow: less damage to the hand and greater impact that way. As Justin slumped to the floor, eyes glassy, Sam made a mental note to thank his brother for that impromptu lesson.

"Sam Winchester!"

Sam turned around slowly. He had forgotten they were still in class. Mister Moore was nearly purple with rage. Whoops. Looked like he had pulled a Dean.

* * *

Sam sat nervously in the principal's office, fiddling with the straps of his backpack. He knew Dean had spent more time in principal's offices than he did in his classes, but this was one of the few times Sam had been here, and the only one that involved fighting. He could only imagine what Dean was going to say when he got here. Dean had picked up the phone right away when the principal called and Sam's guilt had intensified at the panic in his brother's voice. It would not be long.

At the sound of footsteps outside the door, Sam jumped. He spun around, but it was just the office secretary telling Principal Jones he had a phone call. Sam tried to listen to this side of the call, but he was too distracted by feeling guilty. He never should have hit that football player, even though the guy was a complete jerk. Hitting a regular student was trouble enough, but when you took down a linebacker people started to wonder and the last thing the Winchesters needed was people wondering.

"Good morning," Dean's voice came from just outside the principal's office. He always sounded smooth as silk and Sam could picture the smile he was giving the secretary only a few feet away. Sam bowed his head, unwilling to look his brother in the eye.

"Sammy?" He heard Dean's boots thudding on commercial carpet. "What's going on?"

Sam still did not look up, even though Dean called him by that baby name. His mouth did not open to retort "It's Sam." He refused to look his older brother in the eye.

"Principal, um," he heard Dean struggle for the name.

"Jones," the youngish principal answered.

"Right, Principal Jones. Good to see you again. What seems to be the problem today? Sammy do too well on one of his tests or something?" Sam could hear the smirk in Dean's voice. He knew how much Dean enjoyed rubbing his grades in the faces of school administration. He studied his shoes. They still looked new, but felt terribly tight. He had been afraid to mention it to his dad or brother. Cash was always an issue.

"Where is Sam's father?" Principal Jones demanded, not caving to Dean's charismatic personality.

"Working," Dean replied lightly. "So what's the problem?" Dean lounged back in the chair next to Sam, kicking one foot over his knee. Sam knew Dean was trying to get him to make eye contact, but his shoes were just so fascinating.

"Sam has been fighting in school, during class."

He heard both of Dean's feet hit the floor. "Excuse me?"

"I said," Principal Jones started to repeat himself.

"Yeah, I heard you," Dean snapped, interrupting. There was a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Sammy? What happened?"

Sam sighed, shaking his head. He really, really did not want to talk about it.

"Sam," the warning tone was in Dean's voice, and he didn't say 'Sammy.'

Sam looked up, feeling intensely guilty. "Sorry," he said lamely.

"For?" Dean prompted, his face more concerned than angry.

"I hit a linebacker," Sam's voice was barely audible. There was a light in Dean's eyes Sam had not been expecting. He thought Dean would be mad, not proud. Reflecting, he probably should have known better. Dean never was particularly fond of high school football players.

"Knock him out?" Dean asked quietly.

Sam nodded. He could tell Dean was stifling a laugh. Then Dean's face shifted, became serious. "Why Sam?" But the look on his face was asking if the guy was a werewolf or possessed or something.

Sam sighed. He shook his head and returned his attention to his sneakers.

"Principal Jones? If you left us alone for a few minutes, I'm sure Sammy will tell me what happened." Dean's voice was smooth and ingratiating again.

"That won't be necessary," Principal Jones replied. "It seems the student in question did an impromptu speech on you and your car. The teacher ordered the other student to report to my office. Then Sam started the fight."

Sam imagined he could hear Dean's eyebrows raise. "Excuse me, but did you say that Sam started the fight? Because of something said about me?" Dean laughed. The hand on his shoulder moved over to rub his back. Sam still did not look up. He could feel the heat creeping into his face. Was Dean really being affectionate? And in front of a stranger? Could this day get any weirder?

"Don't worry, Principal Jones, I'll talk to him about it. I think I can guarantee that nothing like this will happen in one of your classes again. Now, can Sam go back to class?" The hand left his back as Dean stood.

"Actually, I was considering suspension, especially since your father could not be bothered to come." Sam's head hung lower.

"Now, that's a little extreme, don't you think?" Dean's voice seemed to reverberate in the tiny office. "Our Dad just left on a business trip this morning. We're talking about a straight A student here, who rarely, if ever, is in trouble. Just give him detention or something; that would be more appropriate."

"Are you suggesting that you know better than I how to run my school?" Jones demanded.

Sam glanced up. The smile was gone from Dean's face as he looked Principal Jones in the eye. "No. I'm saying that I know my brother better than you do." The smile returned as though it had never left. "And I do know quite a bit about school punishments. All suspension does is teach kids if they screw up bad enough, they don't have to go to school." His grin broadened. "It was my favorite."

"And what did your father have to say about that?" Jones asked.

"Well, what didn't he have to say about that? Right, Sammy?" Dean turned to him for confirmation. Sam nodded slowly.

"Well? What do you say? It certainly sounds like Sam was provoked, after all. See, we move around a lot. A lot." Dean's face went serious. Apparently he was going for sincere now. "Family is all we have. So if Sam gets a little defensive, you really can't blame him."

"Actually, I've been wondering about Sam's home life. According to his file there is no mother. How often is your father gone, Mister Winchester? Are you the only one looking after him?"

Sam snapped his head around to look at his brother. The smile was back, the charming one. "Principal Jones, I really don't see what that-"

"Because victims of abuse or neglect often lash out at others, becoming violent themselves. It's a cycle we are trained to recognize, Mister Winchester."

Uh-oh. Now Dean looked mad. He was trying to maintain his composure, but Sam doubted he would be able to do it long.

"Principal Jones? I'm not abused. I don't know where you got that idea." Sam looked anxiously from Dean to the principal and back. Dean looked like he was groping for something to say, which was very unusual.

"Really, Sam?" Jones opened a file on his desk. "Because according to your file, you have shown up in class with facial bruises, mysterious scratch marks, there are numerous reports of bruising on your arms, and the nurse reports that you have been refusing to allow her to check your spine. And you have only been here for two weeks. Would either of you care to explain these things to me? If not, I'd be happy to call Child Protective Services right now." His hand rested on the phone.

"That's it. I've heard enough. Let's go, Sam." Dean stood, one hand hauling Sam up and shoving him toward the door.

"Mister Winchester, I don't think you-"

A low groan sounded behind him. Sam spun around to see Dean sinking to his knees, the principal's hand gripping his brother's right shoulder. Dean's face was pure agony. Sam rushed to him, shoving away his principal who stumbled backwards, looking down at his hands in shock. Sam carefully peeled back both of Dean's shirts. His shoulder was a walking example of the definition 'severe bruising.' Deep black, blue and purple on top until it faded to a sickly yellow-green further down his chest and back. In his mind's eye, Sam could see it as an illustration in a medical textbook. Sam was definitely not going into medicine.

Sam meet Dean's pain-filled gaze, panic pumping adrenaline into his system. "Dean?" he asked softly, anxiously. Never before had he seen his brother like this.

"Nothing," Dean breathed softly. "It's nothing."

"Nothing, huh?" Sam returned his attention to Dean's shoulder and felt around gingerly until Dean spasmed again. "You actually busted your collar bone this time, didn't you?"

Dean winked as he grabbed Sam's arm to pull himself up. "It looks worse than it is."

"Oh, really?" Sam faced down his brother, both hands on his hips. "When did this happen?"

Dean looked embarrassed. "Um, Sam, I really don't think this is the time-"

"And when would be the time, Dean? When did this happen?" Sam knew he sounded like a bratty kid, but he did not care. How could Dean hide something like this from him? When would Dean stop trying to protect him from every little thing? At least he knew the real reason now Dean had been so moody and sleeping in the car.

"Dean?"

"Did your father do this to you, Mister Winchester?" Principal Jones looked appalled.

"What? No!" Dean stretched a little, wincing as he moved his shoulder. "It was actually starting to feel better until…" Dean glared at Principal Jones. Sam suspected his principal would have had a broken jaw if it were not for Dean's restraint. Or pain.

"Never mind that!" Sam snapped. "I want to know exactly how and why and…" his voice trailed off at the look on Dean's face. Suddenly he knew. He knew exactly how it happened and when. It happened about a week ago, when Dean's moodiness started. "You were hus-" a warning look from Dean cut him off, "playing pool again, weren't you?"

Dean just looked at him. "You needed new clothes for school."

Sam felt his jaw go slack. He had asked where the extra money came from last week. Now he knew. He should have asked for larger sneakers, too.

"All the kids at this school get so dressed up. I didn't want you to stick out." Dean's voice may have been hard, but Sam heard what he was really saying. Dean did not want him to feel like a freak.

"Excuse me?" Principal Jones attempted to re-enter the conversation. "Do you mean to tell me that you suffered these injuries while playing pool?"

"No," Dean glared at Sam's principal with a cross between hate and disgust, "I suffered these injuries as I collected on a bet I won while playing pool."

"So you could purchase new clothes for your brother?" Jones sounded skeptical. "Because you felt guilty, Mister Winchester? To make up for some type of physical or emotional abuse?"

Dean's attention shifted back to his brother. "What the hell is wrong with this guy?"

Sam shrugged. "No idea." Sam grabbed Dean's right wrist, knowing he could not possibly pull out of it in his current state, and fished in his right pocket for the car keys. "But I do know that I'm taking you to the hospital, right now." Sam walked out of the office.

"Sammy! Get back in here!" Dean shouted, following him out. "Sam!"


	4. Ch 4:Aftermath

Greetings! It's time for the weekly update to this story. I'm doing Nano again this year, so don't expect much on my other stories this month (I'm far enough ahead on this one to continue weekly posts). I'll get back to regular updates on them after November. There is another chapter of L&D pending my awesome editor's review, so it should post pretty soon. I hope you enjoy this!

**Chapter Four**

**Aftermath**

Sam waited next to Dean in the emergency room. Sam had already filled out all the paperwork and now they were waiting to be seen by the triage nurse. It bothered Sam a little – no, a lot – that he knew more about emergency room procedures than anyone else who was not in medicine. He was definitely not planning on being pre-med. Pre-law was starting to sound pretty good, though.

"Dean Winchester?"

Dean leaned over before he stood up to follow the nurse who looked like an army reject. "You do know Dad is gonna kill you for using our real names, right?"

Sam just shook his head. Actually paying their medical bills might have been rare, but it was not unheard of. He followed in his brother's wake, determined that Dean not try to hide anything else.

"Something wrong with your collar bone?" she asked as she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around Dean's right arm. Before he could answer, she stuck a thermometer in his mouth. Dean shot Sam an irritated look.

"Yes, ma'am," Sam answered for his brother. "It's bruised really bad, I'm afraid it might be fractured."

"Fractured, huh? I don't suppose you'd mind if a doctor diagnosed it?" she snapped, reading her gauges. "BP is 120 over 85 and temp is a little high."

"High?" Sam stepped closer so he could read it. "102?" He shot a sharp look at Dean, which was waved off. Using his good arm, of course.

"Okay, let's see it."

"Get out, Sam." Dean glared at him.

Sam stood his ground. "Who do you want to help you with your shirt, me or her?"

"Nobody!" Dean snapped. "Out!" But Sam was not going anywhere. He stood stubbornly beside his brother until Dean rolled his eyes and sighed with frustration. Dean removed his outer plaid shirt easily. To take off his t-shirt, he pulled his left arm out first. Then he used his left arm to pull the shirt over his head and finally off his right shoulder and arm. He grimaced during the last part. The fact his brother even showed he was in pain was enough to set Sam's stomach twisting again.

Sam heard the nurse's sharp intake as she saw Dean's shoulder for the first time. "Turn around," she ordered. Dean did and Sam started to feel woozy. His back was covered with long, straight bruises. "Son, who the hell beat you like that?" She was breathless.

Dean cast a look over his good shoulder. "You shoulda seen the other guys," he said, his face in that patented Dean Winchester lop-sided grin. The nurse managed to chuckle, but Sam had the feeling Dean was quite serious about it.

"When did this happen?" she asked, making rapid notes on her clipboard.

"About a week ago."

"A week?" She looked up sharply. "You've gone a whole week like this?" Now she turned her ire on Sam. "Why didn't you make your brother come in sooner?"

Sam glared back. "I would have if he had bothered to tell me!" Dean's eye rolls were so loud everyone in the waiting room probably heard them.

"Wait a minute," the nurse paused in her exam, "was this last week? Bar fight or pool hall?"

Sam felt his eyebrows arch as he waited for his brother to answer.

Dean met his eyes as he replied, "Pool hall." His voice said: I didn't lie to you.

The nurse nodded. "I seem to recall a few guys in here who took a nasty beating at a pool hall last week. Guess you were one of them, huh? Must have been some fight."

"Yeah," Dean grinned again, "it sure was."

"Wait here. I think you're next." She bustled out of the small triage room.

"How many?" Sam demanded.

Dean's eyes squinted. "Don't you mean 'how much'?"

"No," Sam's patience was pretty much gone by now, "I mean how many guys?"

He shrugged that left shoulder again. "I don't really remember. It was kinda dark."

"Dean."

"Honest, Sam. I don't remember." His left hand ran over the top of his head. "I don't even remember how I got back to the motel that night."

Sam felt his eyes widen. That must have been the night Dean came stumbling in. Sam had assumed his brother was drunk and had been merciless about waking him up the next morning.

"Dean, you might have had a concussion. You really should have told me." He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and guilt twisted his stomach until he felt nauseous.

Dean grimaced. "Why? So you could drag my ass off to some hospital? Come on, Sammy. You know we can't afford this. I've been riding Dad's ass not to move us again until summer." He blew out a long breath. "So much for that."

"I'll get a job." Even as the words tumbled out of his mouth, Sam was surprised to hear them.

Dean, however, laughed. "Oh, no, you won't. Your job is school and Dad's research assignments. I'll figure something out."

"No pool," Sam said, lowering a finger at Dean. "Promise."

"Yeah, sure, Sammy. No problem." Sam could not be sure, but he thought Dean might be lying.

"Dean? Come on back." It was the stocky army nurse again. She led them back to a white curtained area. Sam followed, intent on making sure Dean allowed the examination. The look on her face showed disapproval, but she said nothing. Apparently the short time she spent with Dean had been enough to convince her that he was not the best patient.

* * *

Sam insisted on driving back to the motel. Dean was on painkillers and his arm in a sling to immobilize his collarbone. As they pulled into the parking lot, Dean turned sleepy eyes on Sam.

"Don't tell Dad. I'll figure something out." He yawned.

Sam chewed his lower lip. It was not that he and Dean never hid anything from their Dad, heck, Sam usually lived for that, but downplaying injuries ranked right up there with treason as far as Dad was concerned. "We'll see," he said, opening the car door.

"No, no, no, Sammy." Dean wobbled as he got his feet under him. "You don't understand. He'll be mad." His brother's eyes were wide.

"When isn't he mad?" Sam demanded, taking Dean's good arm to lead him back to the room.

"I never told him," Dean continued, staring at Sam. "Don't ever," Dean imitated their father, "downplay an injury, son." He sighed. "Dad will be so disappointed. I hate it when he's disappointed."

Sam cringed. Yeah, he hated it when Dad was disappointed in Dean, too. He hated the way it ripped Dean up, the way it tore into his brother in a way nothing else could. But by the same token the slightest praise, or hint of praise, had Dean walking on cloud nine for weeks.

Sam settled Dean on the bed. He found an old Godzilla movie on and Dean fell asleep while watching. Sam snagged Dean's cell and went outside. He debated with himself for at least ten minutes before making the call.

"Better be good, Dean." Their father's voice boomed.

"It's Sam, Dad." Sam tried to wet his dry lips, but it was difficult when his mouth was dry, too.

"Sam? Why are you using Dean's phone?" Dad demanded. "What's wrong with Dean?"

Sam cringed. Dean was going to kill him. "Dean has a fractured collar bone, Dad. He's out cold right now because of the pain killers."

A deep growl sounded over the phone. "Any idea what happened?"

Sam took a guilty look at their door. He decided to go for mostly truth. "Well, Dean has been pretty moody for about a week. I thought it was just because we both forgot his birthday. But when my principal grabbed his shoulder and he went down…"

"Wait a minute! Hold on!" Dad shouted. "Your principal? What the hell does your principal have to do with this?"

Oh, right. Forgot about that part. "Um, well, he tried to call you but he had to settle for Dean. I was fighting during class. But that isn't the point here," Sam rushed to say.

"You fighting in class isn't the point, Sam?" Dad sounded angrier by the second. He was definitely not doing this right. "Then what is the point?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair. Deep breaths, calm down. "Okay, my point was that Dean's hurt and can't hunt with you for a while. And I don't know if I'll be able to convince him to keep wearing the sling like he's supposed to. I'm sure Dean will have a few words to say about me fighting in class and almost getting…" his voice trailed off. Actually, Sam had no idea if he was suspended or not.

"Almost getting what, Sammy?"

"It's Sam, Dad." That was stupid. Let's just antagonize Dad now too, shall we? "I was going to say almost getting suspended, but I'm not sure. We kinda left before he got around to that."

"You left? While your principal was deciding if you were suspended or not? What were you thinking, Sammy?"

"Well, at the time I was thinking the jerk had better let go of my brother. Dean was on his knees, Dad, in pain. I've never seen him like that before." Sam heard the shudder in his voice. Dean was not supposed to get hurt, he was supposed to be indestructible.

"Okay, okay, Sam. Relax." He could hear Dad's breathing on the other end of the line, which meant his dad was thinking. Sam waited, worrying about their father's decision. Dad's decisions were always final. Always. "Okay, Sammy. I'm going to call your principal in the morning and see what the hell is going on. In the meantime, you look after your brother. And if he gives you any grief about the sling, you just tell him it's an order from me. He won't question that."

Sam let out a breath of relief. Then another piece of crucial information popped into his head. "Dad? Principal Jones threatened to call CPS. That's why we were leaving."

"And that's when he grabbed Dean?"

"Yes, sir."

He heard Dad sigh heavily. "I'll handle it. You might as well stay home from school tomorrow and try to look after your brother. If he gives you too much grief about anything he's supposed to be doing, make it an order from me. I'll call tomorrow."

"Yes, sir. Uh, Dad?" Sam paused, biting his lip.

"What?" The tone in his father's voice asked 'how much more could there possibly be?'

"Uh, thanks. Dad. Thanks."

"Yeah, sure, son. Better go check on Dean. Oh, and Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"You're both grounded until further notice." The connection went dead with a finality that was so like Dad. Sam could not help but grin at the phone as he headed back into the crappy motel room he and Dean called home at the moment. Now he had a way to make Dean follow the doctor's orders. Of course, Dean was going to be really, really, really pissed. Oh, well.

Sam let himself back into the furnished room. He reached out to replace Dean's phone when a voice startled him.

"Called him, didn't you?"

Sam looked at Dean through his long bangs. "Yeah. Sorry, Dean, but I figured I'd probably need the big guns to get you to follow the doctor's orders."

Dean rolled his eyes. When the green orbs settled, he sighed expressively. "So, how mad was he?"

"We're both grounded until further notice," Sam replied, picking up the TV remote.

"And?" Dean waited.

Right, he must be worried about Sam's school, too. "And he said he'd handle my principal, that you shouldn't worry about it."

"No, Sam." Dean struggled to sit up against the headboard. Sam knew better than to try to help but he cringed at the sight anyway. "What other punishment?"

"Nothing, Dean." Sam shook his head. "Dad seemed more upset about me getting into a fight in school than anything. Oh, and he said wearing that sling was an order."

Dean's brow furrowed. "No other punishment?" He nodded slowly. "Dad must be saving that for when he's back home."

Sam doubted that, knowing how worried Dad was about Dean, but he did not voice it. It actually seemed to comfort his big brother, like Dad being mad equaled Dad caring. Well, if he looked at it like that, Dad cared an awful lot about Sam. If that really was the case, then Dad actually cared more about him than Dean. No, Sam refused to believe that. Dean was the good son.

As Dean dozed the rest of the evening, Sam couldn't help thinking about how stupid his big brother could be. Okay, it was in a heroic kind of way, but still stupid! Dean could have been hurt far worse than that. He should have been checked out that night, when he probably had a concussion.

Still disgruntled, Sam ordered Dean's favorite pizza, the meat supreme. He felt like getting just a plain cheese and letting his big brother bitch about it as punishment for hiding this injury. Then Sam remembered what Dean said about what might happen after Dad came home. Dean could be right, even if Sam didn't want to believe it. It wouldn't be the first time Dad surprised or disappointed him.

"Paper?" Dean asked as a commercial came on.

Sam held up his notebook. "Working on it."

"Need any help?" his brother asked, somewhat glazed eyes focused on the small television.

"Nah," Sam replied. "I got it."

"You never told me what you're doing it on," Dean said.

Sam chewed his lower lip before answering. "Nope."

Dean shrugged with his good shoulder, using the remote to flip through the channels.

A fresh stab of guilt tore through Sam. He sighed heavily. "You and Dad," he admitted, hoping Dean was too doped to remember.

Dean turned heavily medicated eyes on Sam. "What?"

He was saved from answering by a heavy knock at the door. "Probably the pizza." Sam jumped up, relieved by the distraction. He grabbed Dean's wallet as he headed for the door.

"Don't tip if it's cold," Dean warned from behind him.

Sam nodded as he reached for the doorknob. He flung the door open to reveal two uniformed officers. Crap.

"Y-yes?" Sam stammered. "Can I help you?"

One of the officers consulted a thick notebook. "Winchester?"

Sam's mouth dried up completely, making it impossible to even swallow. He managed to nod, however. Only after the second cop peered into the room, making a face when he saw drugged-Dean, did the fact he should have lied occur to him.

"We are following up on two reports which appear to be related," the first officer explained. "Is Dean Winchester here?"

"He's my brother," Sam said defensively. "But he's not really up to visitors right now."

"Oh?" The officer's pen hovered over the notebook. "And why is that?"

Sam tried to swallow again, but couldn't work up enough spit to do it. "Busted collar bone," he said, deciding that the truth was probably best for now. "They drugged him out of his gourd in the ER. I doubt he'd make any sense right now."

"Sammy!" Dean snapped, urgency lacing his words. "Look!"

Sam motioned for the officers to stay where they were as he checked on his brother. "What, Dean?"

Dean pointed out a woman selling wood floor cleaner. "Check it. She's hot."

Sam nodded appreciatively at the commercial. "How're you feeling?" he asked when the hot cleaning woman was replaced by a frisky puppy.

Dean gave him a wide, bright grin. "Real good. Sam, you should try this stuff. It's great."

Sam chuckled as he turned around, heading back to the officers waiting in the doorway.

"I see what you mean," the first officer said. "We can come by tomorrow. What time would be good?"

Sam shrugged. "We might leave to grab something to eat, but otherwise we should be here."

The second officer eyed him suspiciously. "Aren't you supposed to be in school?"

Sam shrugged again. "Not if my brother needs me here."

"Dude!" Dean's voice rang out again. "You gonna pay for that pizza or date the delivery guy?"

Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes. "Maybe you should go now," he told the officers as he noticed a guy in a red jacket carrying a pizza box. Sam waved to him, pushing past the cops. He pulled a twenty out of Dean's wallet, passing it over to the delivery guy. "I'm sure my brother will be more himself tomorrow," he explained as the delivery guy handed over his change. Sam hesitated before offering a dollar as tip. Yeah, it was a lousy tip, but this money came at a high price. The guy should be happy to get a tip at all.

The first officer gave Sam his card before they left, promising to come back tomorrow. Sam stuffed it in Dean's wallet along with the change from the pizza.

That comment about school got Sam thinking. If it was his principal who called, then shouldn't he be suspended? So why would the cop ask if he should be in school? And if it wasn't his principal, then why did they come? He and Dean would have to discuss it after the heavy hospital meds wore off.

Sam grabbed the roll of paper towels they kept in the dresser before approaching his brother with the pizza.

"There you are," Dean said, but he did not sound upset. "What the hell took you so long?"

Sam flipped the pizza box open on the bed next to Dean. "I'll tell you in the morning," he promised.

Dean shrugged as he reached for a slice. Sam marvelled at the fact his brother was so willing to let that go, at least for now. Was it the medication or was that just Dean? As he chewed through several slices of pizza, Sam pondered that question.

Before the cops showed he had filled two pages of his notebook with complaints about Dean being a stubborn, self-sacrificing ass. Those needed to be in the dumpster before Dean got up in the morning. Sam tore the two pages out of his notebook, folded them to stuff in his back pocket. He studied Dean's column for a long time before he picked up his pen again.

Sam went up to 'acts selfish' and crossed out selfish, writing in 'rude.' Then he added 'self-sacrificing', 'never complains,' and 'does stupid things trying to make things right.' He pondered it for another few minutes before adding 'trusts family blindly.' Sam moved over to Dad's column to add 'trusts Dean to take care of things' and 'doesn't trust anyone or anything blindly.' Sam found that he actually preferred Dad's way on that. Blind trust was just asking for trouble. He flipped back to compare to add 'hustles pool/darts/poker for spending money.' Well if his principal hadn't called CPS yet, that comment in his English paper would do it. Sam put a mark next to it and all the references to hunting, to remind himself not to use those.

Sam studied his lists, wondering if he had enough for a paper yet. He laughed at himself when he realized he had not covered the obvious: Dad's and Dean's physical appearances, voices, how they dressed. He drew a line below his current lists, so he would have room to go back and add comments if he wanted. Below the line he listed their physical characteristics. Sam surprised himself by putting 'laughs/happier' under Dean's column. He never really saw that in his brother before, or maybe he just didn't appreciate it. He was pretty sure it was no coincidence that all of them dressed alike. Dean dressed like Dad and Sam dressed like Dean. That was probably significant. Sam filed the information away mentally to use later and put a star next to it on his compare page.

Sam rubbed at his sore neck, slowly becoming aware of deep breathing from the other bed. Dean was sound asleep. Sam smiled to himself as he shut off the television. He tried to be quiet as he cleared the pizza off Dean's bed and changed, even though Dean could probably sleep through a tornado right now.


	5. Ch 5:The Day After

**Chapter Five**

**The Day After**

"Sam! Sam!" Dean shook him awake.

Sam blinked heavy eyelids, his brother's worried face barely penetrating his sleep-induced gaze. "What? What's wrong?"

"Dude, you're late for school!" Dean tried to pull him up.

"I'm not going," Sam muttered, wondering why Dean was all worked up.

"Yeah?" Dean stood over him, glowering. "Says who?"

There was no trace of his drugged-out brother left. Instantly comforted by that fact, Sam rolled away. "Dad," he replied through a yawn. "And you're supposed to keep the sling on."

When the bed at his back dipped with his brother's weight, Sam rolled back over.

"You told Dad?" Dean asked, scrubbing a hand down his face.

"Yeah, I told you that yesterday." Sam pushed up to a sitting position. "Don't you remember?"

Dean scratched at his jaw. "I guess I thought I dreamed that. It's pretty hazy." Clear hazel-green eyes locked on his. "So how much trouble am I in?"

Sam stretched. "I think I'm in more trouble for fighting in class."

"That's right." Dean's brow furrowed. "What was that all about? You couldn't wait until after school to beat the crap out of him like a normal person?"

Sam just shook his head. He didn't have a good answer. "I didn't plan it. It just happened."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You and Dad," he said, shaking his head. "Neither one of you think first, you just jump in with both feet."

Sam scowled. "This from the guy who got the crap beaten out of him hustling pool?"

Dean shot him a glare. "That was different." He stood, crossing the motel room in a few good strides.

"Different?" Sam demanded, sliding off the bed to confront his brother. "How?"

Dean spun around, advancing to press a finger into his chest. "I was jumped. I didn't have a choice. Your teacher was handling it and you started a fight anyway. You had a choice."

Sam was stunned. Dean was actually right. Mostly.

"You shouldn't have been out hustling by yourself," Sam argued. "It's dangerous, you know that, and you made that choice!"

"You said you needed clothes!" Dean snapped, as if that were perfect justification.

After a moment, Sam realized that in Dean's mind it was perfect justification. The day Sam mentioned he would like new clothes he effectively gave Dean a mandate. Damn it! Sam would have to be more careful in how he phrased things from now on. At the time he knew Dean would find a way to buy the clothes, but getting hurt over stupid stuff like that was ridiculous.

Dean glared for a long moment before retreating to the shower. Sam sat back on his bed, trying to figure out how to fix this problem. Dean getting hurt just to hustle money for clothes was a serious problem. Why would his brother think he needed to do that? Why would he think that Sam's clothes were more important than his own safety? Didn't Dean have a better opinion of himself than that? He at least appeared to.

For the past week Dean had been getting dressed in the bathroom. Now when he came out with only a towel around his waist his bruised shoulder seemed to scream at Sam. "Well?" Dean asked, giving him a puzzled look. "Aren't you going to shower?"

It was amazing how quickly Dean's temper always cooled off. Sam gave his brother a nod before heading into the bathroom. As the hot water beat down on him, several more items for his paper sprang to mind and this time they weren't all for the contrast page. Under compare he planned to add that both his father and brother liked to hide injuries, hide problems from him. As he dressed after his shower, shooting Dean curious looks, there was a knock on the door.

Sam froze. He had totally forgotten to tell Dean about the cops from last night. He hissed at his brother before Dean could open the door.

"What?" Dean asked as one hand reached out for the doorknob.

Sam held up two hands, one with all the fingers spread and the other in the shape of an 'O'. Dean's brow creased and he peered through the peep-hole in the door. Big brother turned back around to give him a questioning look. Sam shrugged, he still didn't know any more than he did last night.

Dean's head tilted to one side as he clearly accepted the inevitable. He pulled the door open as Sam shrugged into a long sleeved overshirt, something he should have been wearing to school.

The two cops from last night stood in the doorway.

"Yes? Can I help you, officers?" Dean asked in a sugary sweet voice that Sam could hear the derision in. He suppressed the urge to cringe.

"Dean Winchester?" the nicer officer from last night asked.

"Yes?" Dean frowned suddenly. "This isn't about my dad, is it? He wasn't in a car wreck or anything, was he?" The worry sounded genuine, but Sam knew better.

The officers exchanged a confused look. "Uh, no sir, nothing like that. We're just following up on a couple of reports. Do you mind if we come in?"

Dean stood in the doorway, blocking entrance to their room. "I haven't made the beds," he said simply. "If this isn't about Dad, then why are you here?"

"Just let us take a look inside," the second officer snapped.

"Got a warrant?" Dean snapped back. When neither man answered, Dean snorted. "Didn't think so. Now, what do you want?"

The first officer flipped back a few pages in his notebook. "We have reports from the high school and emergency room that one Dean Winchester received a severe beating. Would that be you, sir?"

Dean's best puzzled expression flowed smoothly over his features. "Severe beating?" He turned around to roll his eyes at Sam. "Sammy, do you know anything about a severe beating?"

Sam stepped forward. "Only if you call a busted collarbone severe," he said. Dean shot him an aggravated look to which Sam could only shrug. He told the cops about Dean's collarbone last night, it wasn't like he could lie about it now. Oh, right, Dean didn't know about that yet.

The first cop consulted his notepad again. "Mister Winchester, the ER triage nurse reported you have numerous marks on your back, most likely from being beaten. Coupled with the report from Sam Winchester's school about his refusal to allow the nurse to check his spine…" the man's voice trailed off, allowing them to draw the same obvious conclusion.

Sam flinched. Oh, crap! His eyes darted to Dean's face. That puzzled look was back.

"Sam?" Dean made a half turn to face him. "What was up with that spine-checking stuff?" Then Dean's face shifted into concern, real concern not faked. "Is there something wrong with your back?"

Sam shook his head. "No, Dean. Really. The school nurse is just creepy."

The concern faded but did not go away completely. One eyebrow crooked up, asking Sam a question. Sam shrugged in response. Dean motioned with his left hand for Sam to lift up his shirt. Sam sighed, rolling his eyes as he pulled up his shirt and turned around to show off his back, hoping any residual bruising from their last hunt had faded by now.

"Maybe you should go see a regular doctor who isn't creepy," the first cop suggested. "He can send a note up the school nurse."

"Good idea," Dean replied. "Sam, pull your shirt down. There aren't any chicks here who want to keep looking at your bare back."

Sam lowered his shirt as he turned around. "You really think they'd prefer looking at my back, Dean?" he asked, one side of his mouth twisting up in a grin.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "Don't suppose one of you needs a pain in the ass little brother?" he asked, grinning at the cops.

The cops exchanged a look. This clearly was not going the way they expected. "Mister Winchester," the first cop tried again.

"Dean," his brother interrupted. "Mister Winchester is our father."

The first cop nodded, clearing his throat. "Dean. How did you receive your injury?"

Dean cocked his head to one side. "A couple of guys jumped me in an alley." He shrugged with his good shoulder.

"And the marks on your back?" the cop persisted.

Dean grinned. "It was the alley behind the pool hall."

"When?" the first cop asked. "And why didn't you report it?"

"About a week ago," Sam put in. "And he wasn't exactly coherent when he came home that night."

The first cop's brow furrowed. "Drunk or concussion?"

"Probably," Sam said agreeably before Dean could say anything.

The first cop grinned at him, making a note on his pad. "I, uh, see what you mean about your brother there," he said to Dean while motioning to Sam. "But seriously, why didn't you report it?"

Dean shrugged his good shoulder. "It wasn't like I could ID them. What's the point?"

"Well," the second cop spoke for a change, "maybe it'd give you some proof that your father wasn't responsible, like his principal thinks."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Dad wasn't even here."

"And how often does your father leave?" the first cop asked, pen poised above his notepad.

Dean made a growling noise as he headed away from the door. "Hang on a sec." He rummaged through his duffel before returning with a file folder Sam didn't recognize in his hand. "Here, that should clear things up a little," Dean snapped as he shoved it in the cop's hands.

The first officer's eyes widened as he nearly dropped his notepad to take it. He opened it. After reading the first page, he paused to eye Dean suspiciously. Sam just itched to get his hands on that file now. What the hell was in it, anyway? And why didn't he know about it? Knowing Dean and their dad it was something the two of them cooked up in case anything like this ever came up.

"Well," the officer said after thumbing through the pages, "everything appears to be in order."

"Thanks," Dean said softly, though from his tone Sam knew his brother meant anything but that.

The officer raised one eyebrow at him. "Seriously? Since you were seventeen?"

Dean nodded, holding out one hand for the file. The cop shrugged, handing it back over. "And you're what, twenty now?"

Dean nodded again, taking the file. "Twenty-one."

A low whistle came from the first cop. "Glad that never happened to me."

"Anywhere else you'd like to stick your nose?" Dean snapped, clearly annoyed now.

The second cop looked like he might take offense, but the first one pulled him back. "No, that's all for now. We may need to come back by for a few follow-up questions. You'll still be here?"

Dean nodded, but he did not look pleased in the least. The first officer handed over his card before leaving. Dean slammed the door closed to storm across the room with his file.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam asked softly.

"You knew they were coming, didn't you?" Dean demanded, spinning around before he reached his duffle. "Sam!"

"They came by last night," Sam tried to explain. "You were too out of it, so I told them they could come back today. I never thought they'd be here so early. I planned to tell you about it over breakfast."

Just that quick, all the anger drained out of Dean's face. "They came last night? And I didn't notice?" His brother's voice sounded a little shaky too.

Sam shook his head. "You were too busy watching hot women selling floor cleaner."

One finger pointed in Sam's direction. "That's two more reasons why going to the ER was a bad idea. One, it got us noticed. Two, I couldn't even handle a couple of local cops when they came to the door."

Sam's eyes darted between the door and the file in Dean's hand. "You're trying to distract me so I won't ask, aren't you?"

Dean scowled, turning back to the duffel.

"You know, now that I know about it…" Sam let his voice trail off, hoping Dean picked up on his threat. Well, it wasn't really a threat, it was more of a promise. Sam was going to get a look at that file sooner or later. Dean needed to see reason and just give it up now.

Dean blew out a long breath. He tossed the file on Sam's bed before collapsing on his own. "Fine. Whatever."

Sam grinned as he headed for the file.

"Just remember, I didn't want to show you," Dean warned.

Sam shrugged. Duh. There were lots of things Dean never wanted Sam to see, like Dad's journal. He grabbed the manila folder off his bed, anxious fingers opening it before he could sit. It was the very first page that stole Sam's breath.

'Power of Attorney'

What the hell? Sam skimmed through it. He didn't catch it all, he read it too fast for that, but the gist of it was that Dean was his legal guardian. "What the hell is this?" Sam demanded as betrayal and a touch of fear washed over him.

Dean did not even bother to sit up. "See? Knew you'd be upset."

"You're my legal guardian?" Sam asked, sitting heavily on the bed.

Dean pushed to sit up with his good arm. "Just when Dad isn't here." His head tilted to one side. "It was the only way to be sure I could look after you and we wouldn't have to worry about child services or family services or anybody else."

Sam scrubbed a hand down his face. Okay, it was official: this week sucked.

"Food," Dean said, breaking his train of thought.

"Wh-what?"

Dean stood, looking down on him with a combination of curiosity and remorse. "You don't think as well on an empty stomach, Sam. Let's grab some breakfast and then you can bitch and moan about it."

Sam scowled at his brother's back. "I don't bitch and moan."

Dean flashed a grin as he held open the door. "Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch."

Sam gritted his teeth as he walked by. "Jerk, jerk, jerk, jerk."

A shove on his shoulder assured Sam that big brother was right behind him. As he sat in the passenger seat of the Impala, Sam realized he forgot something. "My notebook!"

"Forget it," Dean said in a calm voice. "You can work on your stupid paper when we get back. Don't know why you're even bothering. After the way we took off, I'm pretty sure you're suspended." The car roared to life around them. Dean grinned at him as his brother shifted the car into reverse. "That's a pretty damn good reason to blow off your homework."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dad said he'd call my principal today. Want to bet on whether or not I'm suspended?"

Dean snorted as he backed out of their parking space. "No way, dude. Sucker bet. You better work on that paper when we get back."

In the small diner Sam stared down at a plate of runny eggs as his brain worked overtime. "The cop said you were seventeen, Dean." He looked back up at his brother. "Seventeen?"

Dean shrugged, shovelling in an extra large bite of pancake.

"I don't think that's even legal, Dean," Sam pressed. "How could you possibly have had power of attorney when you were seventeen?"

Dean drank a slug of coffee, waving down their waitress. She paused to refill his cup before moving on to take an order at another table. Dean sighed, playing with his mug. "Who are you, Matlock? I really didn't want to get into this, Sammy. That's why Dad and I never told you."

Sam had to take a steadying breath before answering as calmly as he could. "It's Sam. And we're getting into it. Right now."

Dean sighed heavily, staring at his coffee. "See, I knew you'd be upset."

"Upset?" Sam hissed, desperately trying to keep his voice down. A couple of heads turned his way briefly anyway. "You're damn right I'm upset. My brother has legal custody of me and I don't even know about it? How did it happen, Dean?"

Dean shifted and looked right into Sam's eyes. Sam froze at what he saw there. This would be the truth, the absolute truth.

"Some stuff happened a few years ago, Sam. I'm not going to tell you all of it, but, uh, Dad decided that you and I needed to appear self-sufficient." Dean glanced down, rolling his coffee mug between his palms. "I had to be declared an emancipated minor so he could sign power of attorney for you over to me."

"Holy crap." Sam felt his eyes widen at that. "What could possibly have been that bad?"

Dean cleared his throat. "It was the only way without changing our names, Sammy. I, uh, didn't want Dad to change our names because you still had at least five more years in school. Some schools actually check back when you bring in transcripts."

Sam's stomach clenched at that. Dean said 'at least five more years.' Did Dean know about his college plans? "They're supposed to," he mumbled. Then he stared at his brother. "What happened, Dean?"

Dean shook his head. "We're not going there, Sam. Finish your breakfast."

He pushed the runny eggs around on his plate. "I'm not that hungry."

Dean leaned forward on the table. "So, you want to tell me why you took down a linebacker during class?"

Sam made a nice design in egg yolk. "No."

"Sam." He glanced up into Dean's worried face. "Dude, you don't stick up for me. I'm the big brother. What's going on with you?"

Sam scowled at his eggs. They were easier to look at than his brother. "I was just mad, okay?" He let out a loud sigh.

"Yeah," Dean said softly, "what else is new?"

Appetite gone, Sam rubbed his sweaty palms off on his jeans. "Can we just go?"

Dean nodded, picking up the bill to pay as they left. Sam noticed that his brother did leave a small tip on the table. Normally he fussed at Dean for not leaving enough, but this time it seemed about right.


	6. Ch 6:Family Stuff

Ah, you folks are awesome! The last time I received these kinds of reviews (quantity and quality – wise) was for _Lil' Sammy_. Thanks again!

Many of you have asked how Nano is going for me this year. Uh, a little slow right now, actually. I'm behind on my word count, but I'm trying to catch up. Honest! (It's hard to concentrate on a 1930s hotel house detective when SN fanfic keeps lingering in the back of your mind.)

**Chapter Six**

**Family Stuff **

Sam brooded the whole way back to the motel while Dean kept casting guilty looks his way. He ignored them expertly, even if he did say so himself.

"At who?" Dean broke the silence after he shut off the Impala.

"Huh?" Sam paused as he reached for the door handle.

"The fighting? Were you mad at me or Dad?" Dean asked simply, not looking at him.

Sam debated on how he could answer when he didn't really know why. "Everyone," he finally said. "Everything."

He chanced a glance at his brother, but Dean just opened the door as if he hadn't spoken. Typical. Sam followed at a safe distance. Dean opened the door to their room without looking back. Sam sighed as he closed the door. He didn't mean for his comment to shut Dean down like that, to drive a wedge between them. Usually those things didn't last.

To distract himself, Sam opened his notebook to review his notes for his paper. His eyes scanned the page until they hit Dad's handwriting. _Sam's parents_. "Son of a bitch," he swore softly, hot anger welling up again. Dad almost told him that night.

"Sammy?" Dean looked confused as he stared at Sam.

"It's Sam," he snapped, jumping to his feet. "Give me your phone." Sam held out one hand and motioned impatiently.

Dean glanced toward the door like he was considering leaving for a while. "What for?" he asked, clearly spooked by Sam's behavior.

"I need to talk to Dad," Sam said with a snarl. "Right now."

Dean's arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head. "Nope. Maybe after you calm down." His brother's eyes narrowed on him. "I'll have to think about it."

Sam held up his notebook. "He was this close, Dean!" he shouted, holding his thumb and forefinger a miniscule space apart. "Dad was this close to telling me, and he chickened out! I want to talk to him!"

Dean's face shifted into something harder then, suspicious. "What the hell are you talking about?" He reached for the notebook but Sam pulled it away.

"Forget it," Sam snapped, taking his notebook to the far bed to sit on . He hoped his weight wouldn't damage the notebook, it was fairly new. "I just want to talk to Dad."

Dean stared at him for a long moment. Sam thought he would get away with it, until his brother's form became a blur hurtling across the room right at him. Shit! He didn't even have time to react or roll out of the way. Dean's hard, muscular body impacted with all the subtlety of a freight train.

The force of Dean's blow sent Sam sprawling on the floor. He rubbed his already throbbing backside as he pushed off the floor. To his immediate horror, Dean held his notebook. Sam reached out to snatch it back, but that look on Dean's face froze his hand. Sure he had ticked Dean off before, worked hard to aggravate him at times, however Sam could not recall causing that particular expression on his brother's face. Dean's face and eyes were hard and cold, and Sam was powerless to move against him. He flipped through the notebook until he found the last few pages with writing, the pages with the notes for his paper. Sam was really glad the pages bitching about Dean were long gone in the dumpster.

Dean's brow furrowed as he read through the compare page. Sam sighed in defeat and leaned against the wall. He waited until Dean finished reading the contrast page. His brother did not say anything for a while, just stared down at the pages in his hands. He flipped back and forth between the two before turning slowly to face Sam.

"This is what you're all worked up about?" Dean asked, holding up the notebook. "A stupid list?"

"Look under Compare," Sam said. "Check what Dad wrote."

Dean's eyes dropped down again as he flipped the page back. He shrugged. "Which one pissed you off? That he loves you or that he's proud of you?"

"Don't be stupid, Dean." Sam sighed. He knew deflection was one of his brother's defense mechanisms. "The last one: 'Sam's parents'." Sam gestured angrily at the notebook. "He almost told me about it! He even said…"

"What?" Dean closed the notebook to set it back on the bed. "What did he say?"

Sam chewed his lower lip, considering if he should tell his brother what Dad said. Dean didn't always take praise well, he almost never took anything he considered a slam against Dad well, and this was both. So Sam shrugged, deciding to keep the last part of Dad's admission about Dean being the better parent to himself. "He said that you make a great parent."

Dean snorted through his nose, his face scrunching up like he bit into something sour. "Yeah, right."

"And that you're supposed to be wearing that sling," Sam reminded his brother again.

Dean rolled his eyes as he snagged the sling off the bedside table. "Or you'll narc on me again, right?"

Sam pushed off the wall. "Dean, I didn't narc on you." His brother gave him a really hard look. "Okay, so maybe I narced, a little. But it was just to make sure I could get you to wear that sling." Dean continued to stare. "I was worried!"

Dean shook his head, lying back on the bed. "Whatever."

Sam gritted his teeth. He was no closer to learning the reason behind Dean having custody of him than before they went to breakfast. He started to ask another leading question when Dean spoke again.

"Why me?"

"Why you what?" Sam asked, moving to stand looking down at his brother.

"Why am I in your paper?" Dean asked, his brow furrowed. "I mean, I get why you might want to write about Dad, but why the hell are you comparing us?"

"The assignment was to compare and contrast two of your family members." Sam shrugged. "I don't have a whole lot of choices, Dean."

"Oh." Dean stared up at the ceiling. Eventually he shrugged without making eye contact with Sam. "Okay."

Sam took that as permission to work on his paper. He took the notebook off his brother's bed. "So what happened three years ago?" he asked as he sat on his own bed.

Waiting for his brother to answer, or storm off, Sam opened his notebook to add the part about Dad and Dean hiding things from him.

"We haven't been to the movies in a while," Dean said. Sam's head snapped up to see if his brother was serious. "Anything out you want to see?"

An offer to maybe actually pay to watch a movie and Sam got to pick the show? Oh, man, Dean was really pulling out all the stops to avoid this, wasn't he? Sam narrowed his eyes at his brother.

"It's going to piss me off that bad, huh?" he asked slowly.

Dean turned wide, innocent eyes on him. "What are you talking about, Sammy? All I did was ask if you wanted to go to the movies since you have the day off."

Sam searched his memory to see if anything stood out from three years ago. "Wait a minute. Was that the year you wrote your compare/contrast paper? Is this your fault?"

Dean groaned, closing his eyes and shaking his head. Then, as though a switch had flipped, his eyes snapped open. "Yep. That was it. It's all my fault." He rolled off the bed to head for the door. "I'm going to grab a paper to see what's playing." Dean couldn't seem to get out the door fast enough.

Dazed, Sam could only watch his brother leave. Okay, that gave him a new entry under Dean: takes all the blame, whether or not it's his fault. Obviously whatever happened wasn't Dean's fault. Now, did this mysterious event happen before or after Dean's paper?

A noise caught Sam's attention. Music came from the bedside table. Sam slid the drawer open to reveal Dean's cell phone. Awesome! He checked the caller id. Even better, it was Dad calling.

"Hello?" Sam said, grinning triumphantly.

"Sam, how's Dean?" Dad asked. "Is he behaving himself?"

"I just got him to put the sling on, Dad," Sam replied.

He was ready to launch into his next question when Dad cut him off. "Good, see that he keeps it on. I just finished talking to your principal, Sam. The cops might be coming around to see your brother. I want you to just let Dean handle it, okay? Your brother knows what he's doing."

"Obviously," Sam snapped, unable to restrain his emotions. "I mean, since you gave him custody of me and all."

The dead silence from the phone was not exactly unexpected.

"Dad?"

The sound of a throat clearing came through. "Let Dean handle it, and you're going to school tomorrow. Have your brother call me."

"Dad!" It was too late. Dad had already disconnected the call.

"Damn it!" Sam turned to fling the phone against the wall when the door opened, admitting Dean with a newspaper stuck under his good arm.

Dean flinched, throwing his bad arm up to defend himself. "Hey! Watch it!" he barked. With a cautious look around, Dean shut the door. He tossed the paper on Sam's bed. "What are you doing with my phone?" Dean's eyes widened as they focused on the object of Sam's fury.

"Take it," Sam snarled as he tossed it over.

Dean caught it one-handed. "You didn't call Dad again, did you?" He actually sounded scared.

Sam shook his head. "He was calling you. I just answered it."

"Sam." Dean stood in front of him. Sam had a couple of inches on his brother now, but he knew it wouldn't do him any good. "What happened?"

Sam felt like hitting someone, but not Dean. "He wants you to call him," he said through gritted teeth.

Dean glanced back at the wall briefly. "And that's why you wanted to bust my phone?"

"He hung up on me," Sam admitted, glaring at his brother. Red-hot anger with his father welled up. "He hung up."

Dean's eyes widened briefly and Sam knew Dad surprised Dean too. "I'd better go call." Dean did not move toward the door. "You okay?"

Sam shook his head. "But I won't break anything. Go ahead."

He waited all of three seconds after the door closed to rush over to press his ear against it.

"It's Dean, Dad. What happened? … The cops already came by. That's how Sam found out. … Yeah, I didn't want to give them the chance. It seemed safer. … No, sir, I can handle it. … Okay, Dad. I'll check in with Sam's school in about an hour. … Dad? Be careful. … Yes, sir. Bye."

Sam took two long, quick steps back to Dean's bed. He plopped down and stared at the door. Dean came in looking a little disturbed. When his brother looked at him, though, all evidence of worry disappeared. "Dad talked to your principal. We need to go by there before we hit the movies."

"What for?" Sam asked, trying not to sound too demanding. It was bad enough that Dad wasn't talking to him, he didn't want Dean mad at him too.

Dean shrugged with his left shoulder. "Just need to check in there. Dad doesn't think you need to go back today, that you could use a day to cool off." His brother stared him in the eye then. "And I think I agree."

Sam swallowed hard. "Well, it would give me some time to work on my paper."

"Still with the paper?" Dean asked, shaking his head. "We are going to the movies, right? You never said."

Sam shrugged. "I thought we were grounded."

"I don't remember Dad saying that." Dean glanced around. "And he isn't here."

"But last night…" Sam started to protest.

"You mean when I was high on hospital drugs?" Dean laughed. "Dude, I don't even remember coming home last night." He pointed to the newspaper on Sam's bed. "Just pick something out, before Dad remembers to call back and ground us."

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Whatever, Dean. I don't care." He searched in his brother's eyes. "I just want to know what happened three years ago."

"No," Dean said firmly, "you don't." He grabbed the paper. "I'm going to find a movie, since you're not interested."

Sam sighed and held his hand out for the paper. Dean passed it over with that victory grin, the one he had when he managed to get Sam to take some medicine or after putting dye in the shampoo. Dean might have won this round, but Sam would figure out what happened eventually.


	7. Ch 7:Challenges

**Chapter Seven**

**Challenges**

Sam shifted nervously from foot to foot as they waited outside the principal's office. It wasn't that he was worried about Dean handling things, it was more the fact he was in trouble in the first place. Not to mention that whatever happened three years ago still weighed heavily on his mind. He kept searching his memory for any clues but kept coming up empty. Surely something as monumental as his brother taking custody of him would be memorable!

Finally Principal Jones opened his office door. He scowled as he admitted Dean. Sam tried giving his principal a small smile, like a peace offering, but the man was not having any of it.

"I spoke with your father," he said as he sat down behind his large, dark-stained desk. "Dean? I believe you have something for our files?" Jones held out a hand.

Dean looked uncomfortable as he pulled out that damned file. "This is the original. You'll have to make a copy," he said as he handed it over.

Sam glared at the folder as Principal Jones took it. Jones shook it at Dean in a reprimanding manner. "You really should have brought this in when you enrolled your brother. It would have made things much smoother."

Dean's head cocked to one side. "You mean if I had, you wouldn't have called the cops on my dad?"

Sam snorted back the laugh that threatened to come out. He wasn't in the mood to laugh anyway. This really wasn't funny.

"Yes, that's exactly what I meant. Now, do you care to explain your brother's bruises?" Principal Jones demanded.

Dean shrugged. "The kid is a klutz. Ever since his freaky growth spurt, he's been running into everything."

"Not letting the nurse check his back?" Jones continued.

Dean looked rather amused now. "I guess the school nurse creeps him out. We can go down there now if you like. He'll let her check with me in the room. Right, Sammy?"

"Sam," he corrected instantly. "Yeah, I guess." Sam shuffled behind Dean's chair, trying to look like he needed big brother to protect him. Principal Jones gave him an odd look but didn't say anything else.

After his principal made copies of Dean's paperwork they left. Sam had the feeling Dean couldn't leave the school fast enough. As they approached the car, Sam noticed his brother mumbling.

"Damned busybodies. Frigging paperwork." Dean spun on him suddenly. "And what the hell was up with your back, anyway? I'm not buying the creepy school nurse crap."

Sam stopped a few feet shy of the car. "Our last hunt, Dean?" Sam stared as if his brother had just lost his mind. "Remember when the spirit threw me into that bookcase? My back has been covered with bruises for like a month."

Dean nodded stiffly, the movement carrying him the rest of the way to the car. "Oh, right," he mumbled. "They'd probably think Dad did that too."

Sam shrugged. The assumption wouldn't be that far off base. It was Dad's fault, for not having Dean's back during the hunt. The responsibility had fallen to Sam, which led directly to his unscheduled bookcase flight. So Sam paid for Dad's mistake. Not as much as Dean did, of course. It wasn't physical pain Dean had to endure afterwards, it was pure guilt. Dad had even shot Dean some hard looks after pulling the bookcase off Sam, which Dean also did not deserve. At least Dean didn't wind up with any broken ribs or a concussion that time. For a change.

Sam stretched before getting back into the car. "So?" he asked, trying to sound conversational. "What will it take for you to tell me?"

Dean snorted, starting the car. "Act of God."

Sam rolled his eyes. In Dean-speak, that meant there was nothing that could make him tell Sam. Okay, it was a challenge then. Sam was always up for a good challenge.

"What time is the movie?" Dean asked as he drove out of the parking lot. It was weird to see his brother with one arm in a sling. Before Sam could answer, Dean's cell went off.

"Damn it!" Dean pulled off the road, scrambling for his cell. The ringing stopped long before Dean pulled it out of his back pocket. He checked his missed call. "Oh, crap. Forgot about that."

"Forgot about what? You miss a date or something?" Sam asked, curious. Knowing Dean, after that fight at the pool hall he probably picked up a half dozen girls' numbers.

"Yeah. Or something," Dean muttered, calling the number back. "It's Dean," he said, his tone sounding more like he was talking to Dad than some girl. "Nah, he'll be back in school tomorrow."

Sam watched, fascinated. Who the hell was Dean talking to? About him?

"Sure, tomorrow's no problem." Then Dean's face scrunched up, like he bit into a lemon. "Today? No, I can't today. I'm taking my brother to the movies." He rolled his eyes. "Yes, seriously, my brother. … Well, I don't care if you believe me or not. … Fine, get somebody else." Dean growled under his breath.

He held the phone against his side as he turned to Sam. "What time is the movie?" he whispered.

Sam checked his watch. "Early show starts in twenty minutes."

Dean nodded, lifting the phone again. "We can be there for the lunch crowd, but I'm not staying all afternoon. Sam has a paper to work on. … Do I sound like I'm joking? … Yeah, fine. See ya then." Dean growled again as he shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"Dean? What was all that about?" Sam asked, staring unbelieving at his brother. That was the strangest one-sided conversation he ever heard. "Because I know you weren't talking to Dad, or Bobby, or Pastor Jim. Caleb?"

Dean shook his head. "You'll find out soon enough." He pointed down the road. "That theater or the other one?"

Sam nodded quickly. "The close one."

Dean pulled back out onto the street. Traffic was really light at this time of the day.

* * *

Justin watched the big black car pull out of the school parking area. He scowled as it passed, noticing Sam Winchester was still in it. Well, that kid couldn't hide behind his older brother forever. Sooner or later Justin would have another shot at him, and next time it would be on Justin's turf. There wouldn't be any fancy moves or stupid teachers as witnesses. It would be just the two of them, and maybe four or five of Justin's biggest friends, just to make sure things went well next time.

* * *

Principal Jones stared at the phone on his desk for nearly ten minutes trying to make up his mind. Finally he called his contact at Child Protective Services again.

"Hey, Grant. It's Damien Jones, principal at Edwards High School," he said.

"Damien, I've been meaning to call you about Sam Winchester. The police reported that the father doesn't even have custody. I had the officers interview some of the neighbors, if you can call them that. They live in a motel room. The management isn't even that steady. I have the feeling that the older brother prefers it that way, fewer questions. No one even knows if he has a job or how they can afford the room. They always pay cash." A loud sigh came through the earpiece. "Not sure what else I can do there, Damien. Most likely if we start a real investigation they'll just bolt again. Sam has a flag on him in about four states for suspicion of neglect but before they can get anything concrete, his brother moves them to another state."

Jones stared at the far wall. Sam was an excellent student, but abused children often were, out of fear. He certainly acted fearful with his brother here, cowering behind the older boy. From what Jones did know of Sam Winchester, he was anything but fearful. That boy took down a linebacker! The coach was all over his case to convince Sam to try out for the football team.

"So you're recommending, off the record, that we try to handle it ourselves?" he asked carefully.

"I'm saying that unless you have real proof, anything else I do will probably spook them. I can have the police keep some tabs on them. Believe it or not, the officer in charge of this preliminary investigation reported that the older brother willingly handed over the information on Sam's custody and appeared to be fully in control of the situation," Grant informed him

"But no visible means of financial support?" Jones asked. "So you could investigate that, right? Can they depend on the father if he doesn't have custody of either?"

Grant cleared his throat. "That's an interesting tactic. We can try that. But if they take off, remember **you** asked me to look into it."

Jones let out the breath he had been holding. "Thanks, Grant. Sam is a bright kid. I'm sure if it is abuse or neglect, he doesn't want it any more than we do. If we can show him a way out, he's smart enough to take it."

"Hope you're right, Jonesy," Grant said just before he hung up. Feeling slightly better, Principal Jones hung up his phone. He might be putting too much faith in Sam to see reason, but he had underestimated bright kids before and assumed they would not leave their abusive households. He was determined not to make that mistake again.

* * *

Sam was gratified that Dean seemed to enjoy the movie. Of course they didn't get any food at the theater. Dean sneaked in some candy and sodas in his jacket pockets and the sling. He even commented he might hang on to the sling for a while, since it was so useful for concealing contraband. Sam had just laughed, not putting it past his brother to do just that.

Afterwards, Dean drove past the motel.

"Uh, Dean?" Sam asked, pointing back.

"Later, Sammy. I'd stop, but we gotta be there in time for the lunch rush," Dean said.

"What's the lunch rush?" Sam asked, looking over at his brother. Dean did look better today, even though he wasn't taking the pain meds. He claimed they made his tongue feel fuzzy.

Dean cleared his throat, which Sam knew was one of his brother's nervous habits. He glanced over at Sam twice before answering. "At Billy's."

"Billy's?" Sam turned that name over in his mind. "As in Billy's Bar and Grill?"

Dean nodded stiffly. "And you're going to sit at the bar and keep your big mouth shut. I'm not getting fired from this gig because you were fighting in class. Got it?"

Sam's jaw dropped. He couldn't help it. Honest. "Fired? You're worried about... You mean you have a _job_? A real _job_?"

"Shut up," Dean growled.

"No, wait a minute," Sam protested, holding both hands up to ward off Dean's defense mechanisms. "I just want to be sure I have this right. You have a job? An honest-to-God job? Working at Billy's Bar and Grill?" He had to wait for Dean to give a single hard nod. "Doing what?"

Dean cleared his throat, shrugged a little. That was okay, Sam would find out soon enough.

"Okay, how about – why? I thought all our money came from hustling pool or poker or darts?" Sam asked, feeling it was a reasonable question.

Dean sighed, taking the next corner a little fast but fully under control. "Sammy, when we're staying in one place, hopefully for the rest of the school year, we gotta have visible means of support." He shot Sam a meaningful glance. "It pays for the room and food," he said stiffly with his eyes on the road. "Hustling takes care of the extras. Plus, I gotta stay in practice."

Sam sat there, absorbing the fact Dean had an actual job. He said nothing for the rest of the drive or after they arrived at Billy's. Dean made him sit at the end of the bar. His brother disappeared into the back for a few minutes.

"Here," Dean said, handing over a couple of pages of notebook paper and a pen. "You can work on your paper while you wait on me. We'll be here at least a couple of hours."

"But all my notes..." Sam started to protest. Dean's features hardened. "I think I can get started on the rough draft," he added quickly, directing his eyes to the paper. Sam didn't dare look up until Dean had moved away. He let out the breath he was holding as he lifted his eyes from the bar. Sam wrote small in one of the upper corners of his paper: Dean – able to hold down real job / Dad – strictly pool and poker. It might not be exactly fair, Dad had owned a garage once upon a time, but that was before the fire. Sam doubted they had stayed in one place long enough since then for Dad to do anything other than hunt.

As he pondered an opening sentence for his paper a young woman, maybe a few years older than Dean, walked up to him. "You Sammy?" she asked.

"Sam," he replied instantly.

"Judy," she said, offering her hand.

Sam shook it. "Nice to meet you," he said in his most pleasant voice. There was no telling who here might be Dean's boss.

"Working on a paper?" she asked, motioning to his notebook paper with a few scribbles in the corner.

"Yeah, my notes are at home. I'm going to try to start the rough draft without them," he explained. "Dean said we didn't have time to stop and pick up my notebook."

She just looked at him for a moment. "What's your paper on?" Judy finally asked.

"Compare-contrast for English class," he replied. She kept staring at him. Sam decided he wasn't going to offer more information than she asked for.

"What are you comparing?" she asked, leaning on the bar.

Sam glanced around, looking for Dean. Dean was at the far end of the bar taking an order, one eye on them.

"Isn't this supposed to be the lunch rush?" Sam asked, hoping to deflect the inquiries.

Judy looked around before her eyes settled back on him. "Not that busy yet. What's your paper about? What are you comparing?" She motioned to the blank pages again.

Sam wondered if he should lie. "Family members," he said, deciding to keep it as neutral as possible without lying.

Her face cracked with a smile. "I hope one of those family members is Dean. Now that would be an interesting paper."

"More interesting than I thought it would be," Sam found himself admitting.

"What do you mean?" she asked, leaning in close again.

Sam shrugged as the events of the past couple of days swirled in his mind. "Just learning a lot about my family that I didn't know before."

Judy shrugged. "Well, if you want someone to proof read your paper, you can come with Dean one Friday night when he's working and I'd be happy to look it over for you. I was pretty good in English class."

"Thanks." Sam cast a quick glance in Dean's direction. Now he knew where Dean disappeared every Friday night. "So was Dean working the night he got into the fight?"

Judy laughed at that. "Not here. I've been wondering if he moonlights after his shift here at that pool hall down the street. From what I hear, he's quite the shark. Those boys should've known better." Then the smile dropped from her face. "Did he really take those four guys down by himself? That's the rumor, you know."

"Four?" The word was out of Sam's mouth before he could process it. "Four guys?" He shook his head, upset even though it happened well over a week ago. "Apparently," he spat out. "And got his collar bone busted for his troubles."

Judy's eyebrows arched. "Well, that would explain the sling."

Sam nodded, eyes on his stubborn brother. "I made him go to the ER when I found out. Yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Judy waved a hand in his face to get his attention off Dean. "I thought he had to leave because you were in trouble for fighting?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, picking up his pen. "Then my principal said something that kind of ticked Dean off and we tried to leave but Principal Jones grabbed his shoulder..." Sam shrugged off the rest of what happened. "And I drove Dean to the ER."

Judy made a face. "Ouch."

"No kidding," Sam muttered. He could sense Dean's approach. Sam returned his attention to his almost blank page.

"Judy, Sam really does have a paper to work on," Dean said brusquely, nearly shoving her aside. "How about helping me serve some of this food? Little brother will narc on me if I take the sling off."

Sam grinned to himself as Judy moved away with mumbled apologies. Leave it to Dean to take an injury and use it to his advantage. As they tended to their jobs (Dean with a job, when did the world stop revolving?) Sam thought of the perfect beginning for his paper.

_In the world there must be both yin and yang, but what keeps these opposites in balance? Could there be a third force, both yin __and__ yang, which keeps the polar opposites from destroying each other? There is, it is balance. In my family the balance is my older brother, Dean. The yin and yang are me and my father. Dean and Dad have many similarities, but it is their differences that define them and allow Dean to keep our little family stitched together._

Sam read through the paragraph. Not bad for a first draft, he decided. As he read it over again, he saw the truth in his own words. Dean kept them a family. Yes, it was Dean who was always there, not just for Sam but for Dad too. And Dad knew it. He wondered if he could work in how Dean still considered Dad family despite the fact his brother had custody of him. Man, this day just sucked out loud.

On impulse, Sam pulled out one of the pristine sheets of paper. He needed a new list, a list of things that might cause Dad to set Dean up with custody at only seventeen. Sam tried to think of everything in the past four years that would make Dad look like a bad parent. With a snort, he realized that making a list of the things that made Dad look like a good parent would be easier. He brushed the thought away, determined to figure this out.

Okay, number one: Dad leaves for long periods of time, usually weeks.

Number two: Dad showing up covered in blood after hunts was not uncommon.

Number three: Dean always took care of registering them into school anyway.

Number four: When Sam became a teenager, teachers started asking strange questions about his family.

He stared at that last one. Sam circled number four, it looked very promising. He dredged the recesses of his memory for the kinds of questions teachers used to ask. Well, there were a number of teachers who wanted to know what Dad did for a living and couldn't understand why his father never made it to any parent-teacher conferences. Sam usually lamely answered that if Dad was worried about him, his father would show up, that as long as Sam maintained A's, Dad didn't need to worry. As Sam recalled, he got more than one eyeroll or loud huff from those teachers. After he told Dean, though, those teachers usually backed off. Yeah, number four was very promising.

Sam hit a mental wall after listing those four items. As much as he raked his memory, he could not recall anything else that could possibly make Dad give up custody of him. Did he do something? At thirteen? Sam snorted. The last big blow-up he had with Dad was earlier this year, over moving. Again. There really weren't any big arguments at thirteen. So what was it?

Sam shuffled that page to the back, looking over the beginning of his paper again. He checked his watch. They had been here for almost two hours. Dean would expect more of his paper to be done, but Sam did have the excuse that he didn't have his notes. Yeah, that would work. From memory, Sam started on the paragraph comparing and contrasting Dad and Dean physically. It was really more on the compare side he realized as he finished up the paragraph prophesizing Dean would even look like Dad at the same age, except maybe for the hair.


	8. Ch 8:The Plot Thickens

Greetings you awesome readers! Here's this week's installment and I hope you all enjoy it. I have been sneaking off to work on fanfic when I should be working on my novel, so chapter nine will hopefully be ready for next weekend!!

**Chapter Eight**

**The Plot Thickens**

Sam carefully folded the first part of his rough draft in half, the writing on the inside. Dean eyed the paper as they walked out.

"So am I going to get to read it at some point?" he asked as he unlocked the car.

Sam thought it over, dropping into the passenger seat. "Maybe."

Dean's lips pursed. He twisted around to start the car using his left hand. "I'll take that as a yes." Deep hazel-green eyes flicked over Sam's face. "Which means I don't have to kick your ass. One handed."

Sam shook his head as he pulled his door closed. "Yeah, whatever, Dean." Sam stretched out in the seat, more comfortable here than, well, anywhere. "So why didn't you tell me about your job?"

Dean just shrugged.

"When you're gone on Friday and Saturday nights you're working, huh?" Sam asked. Dean gave him a look that said 'duh!' "Does Dad send us any money?"

"Sam, c'mon. I'm already having a lousy day. Let's not top it off by fighting about Dad, okay?" Sam got one of those hard stares, the one which meant 'drop it now.' Normally Sam could ignore those, but there was something different about this one. Dean really meant it, that this was a lousy day for him. Probably a lousy couple of days.

"Okay," Sam agreed as they headed back to the motel. "They really let you take the rest of the day off because of my paper?"

Dean let out a light chuckle. "I don't work school nights, Sam. It's a school night. Judy keeps trying, but I'll quit first and she knows it. I think she was hoping I'd help with the evening crowd since I didn't have to pick you up from school." He snorted. "Yeah, right."

"And you've had this job for how long?" Sam asked tentatively.

Dean did not look over as he answered. "Found it your second day of school here."

"So you work late mornings and afternoons, then nights on the weekends," Sam clarified.

"Yeah. So I need to draw you a freaking picture?" Dean demanded.

"Four guys," Sam told him, turning in the seat to look at his hard-headed brother. "The rumor is that you took down the four guys who jumped you."

Dean's grin was not exactly unexpected. "Told you I won."

"No you didn't," Sam snapped. "Dean, I really don't want you out hustling by yourself anymore."

Dean frowned at the road, his free hand on the steering wheel turning into the motel. "Who the hell do you think you are? Dad?" He shot Sam a glare as he stopped the car. It took a little maneuvering to put it in park, but with the ease with which his brother moved Sam could swear it wasn't the first time Dean had done it left-handed.

Dean jumped out of the car with a hot look at Sam. "Get your ass inside and work on your precious paper." He jerked his head at the convenience store on the corner. "I'm going to grab a few things."

"Maybe I should..." Sam's voice died out at the nasty look on his brother's face. "Put my ass to work on that paper."

Dean gave him a hard nod before turning away. Sam sighed loudly as he watched his brother stalk off across the parking lot. How anyone could be so damned stubborn was beyond him.

* * *

Damian Jones made a call to one of his favorite former students, an extremely bright young woman currently attending college on a full scholarship. She had been physically abused by her alcoholic mother for years before Damian had been alerted to the situation. Carol had almost been the biggest mistake of his career. Convinced she would not leave even if given the opportunity, he had convinced protective services to try to remove her from the household by force. When the police had arrived, Carol took off out the back and was not seen or heard from for months, until her paternal grandmother finally put in a claim for custody.

Carol agreed to come by tomorrow to speak with Sam Winchester. If Sam could be offered a safe way out, surely he would take it. Sam's school records spoke for themselves, straight A's despite jumping schools constantly, between two to four times in a single school year. That overbearing older brother of his was probably the only reason he fared so well, considering the way he had enrolled Sam and insisted on overseeing Sam's schedule from day one, like a tenacious bulldog. . No doubt Sam suffered the consequences when he did not perform up to his brother's high standards. From the way the older sibling acted, and Sam's demeanor around his brother, there had to be physical as well as emotional abuse.

And Sam claimed the school nurse was creepy? Now that was a cop-out if he ever heard one. How absurd. Damian planned on overseeing Sam's spine check personally tomorrow morning. The English teacher would no doubt be quite upset over the fact Sam was not suspended, but how could he force an abused teen to stay at home with his abuser? Damian did not have the heart to do it. A couple of detentions, the first with Carol, ought to make some serious headway into the Winchester problem.

As he thought about it, he wondered if making Sam try out for the football team would be a good idea. It would be several more hours Sam would not have to be at home. Could he make it a condition of Sam's return to school? Probably not. Damian did not see that one sticking. He would suggest it strongly and hint that Sam's problems would be easier to handle if he played on a school team. Yes, that might work. Relieved to have a plan of action, Damian returned his attention to his regular daily duties.

* * *

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket as he stepped inside the convenience store. This was the safest place to have any kind of conversation with blood-hound Sammy on the case. Dad picked up on the second ring.

"This had better be Dean," he snapped.

"Yeah, it's me," Dean replied wearily. "Why'd you hang up on Sam?"

The drawn-out silence spoke volumes, mainly about his father not knowing why he hung up. "Seemed the best option."

"As opposed to...?" Dean prodded, thoroughly irritated with his whole damn family at the moment.

"Dean," Dad sighed. "Do we have to do this now?"

"Now or never, Dad," Dean replied, knowing the truth of his statement.

"I take it Sam's not eavesdropping this time?" Dad asked.

"No, sir." Dean waited. He figured if he could keep his mouth closed long enough, Dad would talk.

"He caught me off-guard," Dad finally said. "I wasn't expecting it. It was either hang-up or start yelling. I figured the very least I owed you was not to yell at him."

Dean snorted into his phone. "Don't see where it would've made a difference. When I walked in, Sam was ready to smash my phone."

"Dean, I just don't see how we can explain it to him without him going off the deep end," Dad rumbled on as if Dean hadn't spoken. "He's not going to understand."

"We could try the truth," Dean suggested. He was so tired of lying to his little brother. Of all the people in the world, Sam and Dad were the only people Dean hated lying to. "That it was my idea."

Now Dad scoffed at him over the phone. "And have Sammy go off on you? I don't think so, Dean. You're the only person he listens to now anyway, we can't lose that."

"Dad, we're really not giving him any credit here. Four years ago he was a snot-nosed little shit, he definitely wouldn't have understood. Hell, he probably would've thought you abandoned us. I think he'd get it now, Dad. Honest." Internally Dean begged his father to trust his judgment, just this once.

"No, I don't think so, Dean. It's probably better to let him get used to the idea first," Dad said quickly. "And I don't want you two doing any rough sparring with that busted collarbone of yours, but that doesn't mean Sammy can't keep working out and practicing. Understood?"

Dean sighed as he nodded at a rack of chips. "Yes, sir." He couldn't keep the disappointment out of his voice at his father's lack of faith in him.

"It's not you, son," Dad said in a gentler voice. "Sam's not like you. He's too much like me, and he won't understand. You're going to have to trust **me** on this one."

Dean swallowed thickly. "Yes, sir," he replied quickly, wanting Dad to understand how much Dean trusted him.

"All right. I'll do my best not to miss Sammy's birthday this year. How's that sound?" Dad asked.

Dean knew a peace offering when he heard it. "Sounds good, Dad. Be careful."

"You too. I have a feeling CPS is going to be sniffing around."

"No problem," Dean replied. "Wouldn't be the first time. I'll let you know when Sam cools off."

He got another round of 'keep the damn sling on' before Dad said good-bye and hung up. With that out of the way, Dean snagged a couple of bags of chips and some of the dip Sammy liked. After he paid for it he headed back. A strange car was parked at the far end of the lot. That in itself was not unusual, but the fact that someone was sitting in it was. Dean made a mental note of it as he headed for their room. The back of his neck itched, like it did whenever someone was watching him. Dean planned to check his clip the second he was in the room.

* * *

His brother seemed a little on-edge. Sam decided it had just been a really lousy couple of days, or weeks. Yeah, a really lousy couple of weeks for both of them. Now his English assignment sat there taunting him. He worked slowly through his known quantities from his list, but Sam had no idea what conclusions to draw. He couldn't very well say that Dean was a better parent than Dad. Could he? Dean did have custody.

Right. Something else for the damn list, under contrast, that Dean wanted him more than Dad.

When Dean came back to the room, armed with chips and Sam's favorite dip, he seemed more like a big brother than usual. He hovered nearby, checked over Sam's shoulder, and kept drifting off to look out the window.

"Did you get a call from Dad or something?" Sam asked. Dean spun around with a surprised expression. "You keep looking out the window," Sam explained.

"Oh. Nah, it's nothing," Dean replied with a shrug, trying to look casual.

Sam stared for a minute, not believing his big brother for a second. When Dean said it was nothing, like that, it was always something. "What's going on, Dean?"

Dean shrugged as he headed for the chips and dip. "I told you. Nothing. How's the paper?"

Sam sighed as his attention was redirected. "I don't know. I mean, I have all the comparisons done, I think, and the basic contrasts, but I don't know what conclusion to draw."

"Huh?" Dean leaned against the chest of drawers on the other side of the room. "Conclusion?"

"Dude, did you ever pay attention in English class?" Sam demanded. Dean's eye-roll said it all: Nope. No monsters in there, Sammy.

"When you write a paper, the last paragraph needs to tie everything together and make some kind of conclusion," Sam explained.

"So?" Dean crammed about five dip-coated chips in his mouth at once.

"Sooo...I have no idea what kind of conclusion to make about you and Dad," he admitted. "Especially now."

Dean flinched. "What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. "Especially now?"

Sam huffed a loud sigh. "It means, now that I know **you** are my legal guardian!"

Dean pointed a steady finger at him. "Only when Dad's not here."

"No, Dean!" Sam exploded, shooting to his feet. "All of the time. According to the papers you have, if Dad showed up and picked me up from school, you could file kidnapping charges on him!"

Dean had a shocked look on his face.

"Didn't you know that?" Sam demanded. "Didn't you bother to read them?" One arm flung out in a wide arc in the general direction of Dean's duffel and the damned folder.

Now Dean's face darkened. "Yeah, I read them," he said slowly as he pushed to a stand. He glared at Sam. "I had to, to make sure Dad had them written up exactly the way I wanted."

Dean pulled his gun out of his back waistband and checked the clip. "I have to go check on something outside." His hard, cold glare returned. "Keep your ass in this room, Sam. I mean it."

Actually, crossing Dean when he looked like that wasn't at the top of Sam's To-Do list. Instead he ran for the window. He watched as Dean headed across the parking lot. Once Dean passed most of the cars, Sam noticed there was one way down at the end, all by itself. As Dean approached, he heard the sound of a car engine starting. Before Dean made it to the end, the car took off with a squeal of tires and black rubber left on the concrete. Dean shook his head at it as it raced away. When Dean turned around to head back, Sam debated on whether or not to duck out of sight. Ah hell, Dean knew him well enough to know he'd be watching anyway. Sam stayed put, checking the parking lot for anyone who might come up behind Dean, just in case. Dean was able to walk all the way back without attracting any other attention.

After Dean came back inside the room, Sam wondered how ticked off his big brother was with him. "What was that all about?" he asked tentatively.

Dean shrugged his good shoulder. "No idea. I noticed the car out there earlier." He made a face as he glanced at the door. "Weird how they took off because I walked over there, huh?"

"Yeah." Sam swallowed hard as an idea occurred to him. "Dean? You don't think it's one of the guys you hustled at pool that night, do you?"

There was a quick flash of emotion over Dean's face, but not fast enough to escape Sam. "Nah," Dean replied with a cocky grin and a snort. "I'm sure they got enough last time." He winked at Sam.

Sam relaxed a little as he dropped back down on his bed where his paper awaited his attention. "When's Dad supposed to be back?" he asked. Sam never worried about their safety when Dad was here.

Dean rolled his eyes, his free hand disappearing into the chip bag again. "Why? So you two can go at it again? Forget it, Sam. Dad's going to be gone until you cool off."

Sam stared at his brother in disbelief. "Dad's avoiding me?" Did his voice just squeak? Hormones. It had to be hormones.

"Nope." Dean crammed the chips in his mouth. "I jus' don' want ta hear it," he said around a mouthful of food.

Sam studied his brother until Dean gave him another nasty look. "Are you trying to tell me that Dad won't come back until you say it's okay?"

Dean shrugged as he wiped his greasy hand off on his jeans. "So. What do you want to do for dinner?"

Sam felt his jaw drop. Did Dad control this family, or Dean?? And why was he only noticing it NOW?


	9. Ch 9:Revelations

Here's what you've been asking for and I sincerely hope it meets with your approval. (For those of you who wanted to know What Happened - my mother has been just as anxious! She brings it up every time I talk to her!! Okay, Mom! I give!!)

**Chapter Nine: Revelations**

Sam tried talking Dean out of making him go to school, he had never been in so much trouble before, but Dean wouldn't hear of it. Big brother kept telling him to suck it up; this was what he got for fighting in class. He thought the real reason was because Dean didn't want him at Billy's watching him work. Jackass. Well, at least he had been able to make some real headway on his paper last night, after he was able to use his notes. It was the last part, the conclusion, which really bugged Sam. He had no idea how to end his paper. At least, no idea which wouldn't cause a visit from CPS, which already seemed inevitable according to Dean.

He had to report to Principal Jones' office first thing, without Dean. The man had made it pretty clear Dean was not welcome back. They probably wanted to grill him about his home life. Yeah, this was going to be fun.

Principal Jones smiled and shook his hand when Sam walked into his office. Weird. It instantly put Sam on guard. The man by all rights should be glaring and giving him disapproving looks to keep him in line. Dean had warned him what to expect, and this wasn't it.

"First, you'll have to serve detention for the rest of the week," Jones informed him. "The first one will be in my office. There's someone who will be joining us after school today. Can you get a ride home?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, no problem. My brother picks me up every day."

"Every day?" Jones frowned at him. "Why can't you ride the bus? Or does your brother not allow it?"

Now that was a strange question. "No buses come by where we live. We're barely inside the district," Sam explained. "My brother even schedules work around picking me up." Man, he never thought he would say that.

"So your brother does have a job?" Principal Jones asked. "I wondered."

Sam shrugged. "Yeah, sure. What, you think he supports us hustling pool or something?"

"I take it he approves of that smart mouth of yours, too?" his principal asked in a strong voice.

Sam swallowed hard. "No, sir. I'll probably be in trouble when I tell him."

"And what does that mean?" Principal Jones sat on the corner of his desk, staring at Sam. "When you're in trouble?"

Sam shrugged again. He had no idea what this guy was driving at. "Well, I guess Dean'll get to order the pizza he likes all week, and I already know I'm running extra laps. Anything else will probably depend on how much trouble I'm in here."

"Extra laps?" Jones asked. Sam mentally kicked himself. "What do you mean by extra laps?"

Sam sighed, sinking down in his chair. Now he knew what Jones was up to. He thought this was more evidence of Dean 'abusing' him. "Dean and I run about four miles every evening when he's not working. Then we have a full workout. Why? Is being in shape considered abuse these days?"

Yeah, okay, he needed to learn to control his mouth. Granted. But this guy was really pushing it. Dean? Abusive? To SAM? Ha. Maybe to his principal if big brother ever found out about this conversation.

"You know," Jones said with a smile, which gave Sam the feeling he wasn't going to like this, "I'll bet you could get just as good of a workout with the football coach. You'd be in practice pretty much every school day for a couple of hours after school. Your brother would be able to put in more hours at work. I'm sure he could use the money. And participants in school activities are looked upon favorably around here." He beamed at Sam.

"Really?" Sam cocked his head to the side like he was considering it. As if. "I guess that's why I'm in detention and not the asshole on the football team who likes poking people with pencils during class."

The smile dropped from Jones' face. "We have an appointment with the school nurse to check your spine. After I walk you to history class, I'll call your brother and inform him about your detention this afternoon." He stood, snapping his fingers at Sam. "Let's go."

Not even Dad snapped his fingers like that, like he was ordering a dog around. Sam stood slowly, giving his principal a hard glare before following without a word down the hall to the school nurse. Just in time, he remembered his excuse about the woman being creepy.

"Uh, Principal Jones, sir?" Sam asked in a small, respectful voice as they paused outside the nurse's office.

"Yes, Sam?" he asked as he turned, face hard and unyielding.

"Are you coming in with me?" Sam made some nervous glances at the door.

"That's the plan," Jones replied in a voice not quite as sharp. "Sam, do you know where your mother is?

Sam nodded. "Sure. She died when I was a baby. Why?"

Principal Jones had his hand on the door knob but his gaze lingered on Sam. "Are there any women in your family that you see regularly?"

Sam hadn't thought about that before. He ran through all the people they associated with in his head. "No, I don't think so. My brother goes through girlfriends the way most people do Kleenex, so they shouldn't really count. Why?"

"Nothing," Principal Jones replied as he twisted the knob to open the door. "I think I understand why you don't like the nurse, that's all."

He did? Sam stared in amazement at the man. How could his principal possibly have an explanation for such an obvious lie? Dean had checked his back this morning and declared the bruises from their last hunt were gone, so it was safe to see the school nurse. Sam only hoped his brother was wearing the sling as promised and wished he had been suspended so he could keep an eye on the stubborn jackass. Well, if Dean was working, he probably was wearing the sling in order to shirk some of his duties. At least that was one facet of his brother's personality Sam could always count on.

The nurse had him take off his shirt and bend over, with his back to her. She ran ice-cold fingers down his spine while Sam grimaced and tried not to pull away. In every school it was the same damn thing. Did they stick their hands in the freezer before doing the spine checks? When she was finished, Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled his shirt back on. The nurse whispered something to Principal Jones as they were leaving, but Sam didn't catch what she said.

"What was that?" Sam asked once they were in the hallway. "What did she say?"

"Just that you're in remarkable shape for a young man your age," Principal Jones replied airily. "I believe this is your first class?" he asked as they paused outside of Sam's history classroom. "I need to call your brother now. Can I tell him you'll be trying out for the football team?"

Sam stared at the man in disbelief. "No. I'm pretty sure I'm in enough trouble right now." When Principal Jones frowned at him, Sam added hurriedly, "I don't really like sports. Is there an academic school team I could join?"

Principal Jones instantly smiled. "Actually, we are looking for a new mathlete."

"A what?" Sam paused just outside the door to his classroom.

"We'll discuss it after school, when you are serving your detention in my office." With that, Principal Jones spun on his heel and marched away.

"He has to be one of my oddest principals," Sam muttered to himself as he pulled the classroom door open.

The school day passed relatively quietly. Sam got a few hard looks from some of the football players, but most of the scrawnier guys in his classes beamed when he walked by. A few of the nerdier guys waved him over to their table during lunch. Apparently his popularity with the non-athletes was pretty high thanks to that idiot in his English class. Sam wasn't sure he liked it, but it was nice to talk to people who actually cared about their classes and doing their homework. He even asked around about the 'mathlete' thing during lunch. It was an academic team which competed in math-based events against other high schools. Well, it was better than the frigging football team. Dean might even let him do it, if they were allowed to stay for a while.

Now there was another thought for his paper. Dad called the shots, but Dean made it work. Hey, it might even tie in with what he had already written. Sam pulled the pages out of his book bag to look his paper over.

"Winchester," said another kid named Sam who looked more the part of a chubby Sammy than he did, "What's that?"

"English paper," Sam mumbled as he scanned through his written paragraphs. Yep, if Sam added one more line to his third paragraph, the one about how Dad and Dean seemed to split responsibilities, then he could use it in his conclusion. Whatever the hell his conclusion was going to be.

"I started mine too," Toby, a rail-thin kid with a serious acne problem, told him. "I'm comparing my mom and my grandmother. Who did you pick?"

Sam glanced up, weighing his decision on whether or not he should say. Well, it wasn't like they were CPS informants; they were just teenagers like him. "My dad and my brother." He shrugged. "It's not like I had a whole lot of choices."

"Lucky you," the other Sam told him between mouthfuls of mystery meatloaf. "I have about twenty-five first cousins and twenty aunts and uncles. Don't even get me started on second cousins."

Toby laughed. "Please don't get him started. Yesterday his list had over fifty names on it. I spent our entire lunch hour trying to talk him into just comparing two immediate family members."

"Of which there are seven!" the other Sam snapped. "Two would be pissed if I did them, and three will be pissed if I don't choose them if I'm doing immediate family. I'm just trying to keep the peace here, man."

"Wow," Sam breathed out. He had trouble comprehending such a large family.

"How many in your family, Winchester?" the other Sam asked.

"Three," he replied with wide eyes. The other Sam must have some serious bladder control with that many people living in one house. Or did they have more than one bathroom? "How many bathrooms are in your house?"

The other Sam held up three fingers. Three bathrooms? Wow, the Winchesters would each have their own. Sam couldn't wrap his head around that concept either.

"Well what about relatives who aren't in your immediate family?" Toby asked.

"I think my mom had an uncle someplace, but I never met him." Sam shrugged. "It's just the three of us."

"Three?" The other Sam stared at him. "I can't imagine just three people living together."

Sam slipped his paper back inside his bag. He returned his attention to the mashed potatoes. "Actually, usually it's just me and my brother. Dad is on the road a lot, working." It seemed safe to say that now since Dean legally had custody, and the school knew about it.

"Really?" Toby's eyes went wide. "He just leaves you two alone? How old is your brother?"

"Twenty-one," Sam replied.

The other Sam and Toby exchanged grins. "Party hardy," they said in unison, heads bobbing.

"Forget it," Sam said dismissively. "Dean wouldn't allow it. The only way I'm even allowed to go to a party is if he drives me there and checks the place out first. Sometimes he even stays."

"Why? If he doesn't like the look of things?" Toby asked.

Sam laughed as he shook his head. "No, he stays if the girls are pretty enough."

"Does your brother work?" the other Sam asked. "If he works nights, we can throw a party while he's gone and clean it all up before he gets home." He spread his hands wide. "Come on, Winchester. I've done it plenty of times."

Sam glared at him. "In a house of seven people, you've thrown parties and gotten away with it?" He snorted disdainfully. "Yeah, right."

Toby grinned. "Busted. But it was a nice try."

Toby received a heated glare. "I don't see you coming up with anything better."

"So, do both of you do this mathlete thing?" Sam asked, hoping to steer the conversation to a safer subject.

Toby shook his head. "I do. Samstein over here can't tell a derivative from a quotient."

The other Sam scowled. "Yes I can. I just don't want to."

Sam laughed as the bell rang. Yeah, joining the math team might be fun, especially if the other Sam wasn't on it. What a dork.

* * *

Sam managed to make it to a pay phone right after school. He called Dean, to make sure he wouldn't worry when Sam wasn't out front. Sam trusted his principal about as far as he could throw him.

"Yeah?"

"Dean, it's me," Sam said, glancing around in case Jones managed to sneak up on him. It would be difficult in the after-the-last-bell madhouse of high school, but not impossible. "Did my principal call you?"

"Detention everyday after school for the rest of the week? Yeah, he called. It sucks, Sammy, but it's one of those things you gotta put up with," Dean said. "At least, for as long as we're here."

"Did Dad call again?" he asked, half-hoping it was the case. "Are we moving?"

"No such luck, Sam," Dean said with a chuckle. "Listen, I'm going to park in student parking. Just come on out when your stupid detention is over, okay? I'll be waiting."

"Okay, Dean. Thanks." Sam heard the implied reassurance that if he needed a rescue big brother was close by. Feeling relieved, Sam headed for his principal's office.

At the office door, Sam paused before knocking. He heard voices from inside. Now what? He remembered Dean told him that he might get lectures, push ups, maybe even have to write lines if the principal was really old-fashioned, but that most likely he would just sit in a quiet room watched by some underpaid school teacher while he worked on his homework. If it was the latter, then perhaps he was not the only one with detention.

Sam knocked. "Come in!" Principal Jones' voice called out. Sam pushed the door open. His principal sat behind his desk and a young woman was seated in a guest chair. She looked too young to be a parent but way too old to be in high school.

"Sit down, Sam," Jones instructed, motioning to the chair beside the young woman. Sam sat, horribly ill at ease. This felt remarkably like a CPS interview. "I would like you to meet one of my former students, Carol. Carol, this is the young man I was telling you about."

All the hairs on the back of Sam's neck stiffened. He shook her hand quickly, dropping it as fast as he could without appearing anxious. "Nice to meet you."

She smiled brightly at him. "And it's nice to meet you, Sam. We might have a few things in common."

"Really?" Sam smiled back. "Does Principal Jones hate your brother, too?"

Carol chuckled. "No, I think he hates my mother."

Sam nodded, maybe they did have something in common. "Why?"

Carol cleared her throat and held her head high. "Probably for the same reason I do, because she used to get drunk and beat me up." Her eyes locked on his. "I was lucky. Principal Jones was in my corner and so was my grandmother. Do you have any relatives who would take you in, protect you?"

Sam glared hotly at her. "My brother protects me," he said through clenched teeth. "And nobody has ever beaten me. Ever!" He was on his feet, towering over this Carol person. "If anyone tried, my brother would probably put them in the hospital!"

He turned on his principal. "You don't know me or my family! So leave us the hell alone!" Sam snatched his book bag from the floor as he stormed out of the office. He heard his name being called, but he really did not care. Sam bolted out of his school heading directly for the student parking lot. There was Dean's car in the far corner, thank God. Sam jumped into the passenger seat, tossing his bag in the floorboard.

"We can move any time you or Dad are ready," Sam announced as he slammed his door shut.

"Sam?" Dean's eyes were narrowed suspiciously on him. "What the hell is going on?"

Sam motioned angrily to the school. "That jackass brought in some girl whose mother used to beat her up to talk to me! They think you're abusing me, Dean. You!" He slammed a hand against the door, hard, relieved when it hurt and confirmed he could feel something other than anger.

"Dude!" Dean grabbed his hand. "You didn't break anything, did you?"

When Sam smiled at his brother checking his hand for broken bones, Dean shifted his attention to the door. "Better not have cracked anything," he snapped, reaching over Sam to run a hand over the door panel.

"Sorry, Dean," Sam replied softly. "I'll be more careful next time."

Dean sat up. "You'd better," he said firmly as he started the motor. "Door panels for this beauty aren't easy to come by." But Sam knew neither one of them were talking about the car.

* * *

After they changed into their workout clothes, Dean drove his brother straight to the park. The kid really needed to work out his frustrations. They started with stretches, which were a challenge considering Sam kept a strict eye on his sling. After stretching, Dean led them on their usual four mile run, but then he kept going. Sam had some pent-up energy he needed to release and this seemed to be the best method. Sam always responded well to physical activity.

After the extra mile, Sam waved for him to take a break. When Dean slowed down, his little brother took off. Okay, so Sammy had a lot of pent-up energy. Well, at least he was working it out. Dean downed some water, splashing the rest of his water bottle over his head and neck while Sam tore around the track. He passed Dean several more times as he ran an extra two miles. When Sam finally stopped, he dropped to the ground panting heavily with his eyes closed.

Dean lowered himself to the ground to sit beside his brother. He nudged Sam with the full water bottle. Sam's eyes flew open. He nodded in thanks as he accepted the water bottle. Once he'd chugged most of the bottle and poured the rest over his head and face, Dean decided to try again.

"Sam, you knew what he thought yesterday. What made you go off the handle like that?" he asked in a gentle voice.

Sam shook his head, water droplets flying into the air from his hair. "Dunno," he panted. "Just..." Sam shrugged. His raised his eyes to look at Dean and there was anger and guilt. Why would Sam feel guilty? "That girl I told you about? Her mother abused her." Sam slammed a fist on the ground. "She wanted to know if I had any family willing to protect me. From you. She wanted someone to get me away from you."

As he lay back on the ground, Sam let out a dark chuckle which caused a chill to creep over Dean's skin. "Like that could happen."

Dean gave his brother a reassuring grin. "It won't. And I have the paperwork to make sure of it."

Sam's eyes rolled but the tension in his shoulders eased. "Yeah, I know." A thoughtful expression crossed his face. "Dean? Remember when you said you had it written up the way you wanted it?"

Dean pretended to adjust one of his sling straps. "Yeah? So?"

"You wanted to have custody of me all the time?" Sam asked in a voice which sounded too frightened for Dean's liking. "Why?"

Dean sighed heavily. Sometimes it was a drag having a little brother who was twice as smart as he was. And maybe Dad was wrong, maybe it was time for Sam to know. "You gotta promise you won't get mad at Dad. Okay? Promise me that, and I'll answer your question."

Sam's eyes lit up, but Dean figured they wouldn't stay that way. He hauled himself up to a sit, so he could look Dean in the eye. "Promise."

"You're sure you can keep that promise?" Dean demanded. "Because you and Dad have been fighting an awful lot lately."

Sam put his hand over his heart. "Dean, I swear. Just tell me. This has been driving me crazy."

Dean sighed and leaned back using his good arm to hold himself up. "About five years or so back, Dad was on some hunt. Wouldn't tell me about it. But I think it went about as wrong as a hunt can." He sighed, remembering the dark time that followed. "Dad started drinking more and talking about what could happen to you and me if he didn't come back from a hunt. He went around talking to people like Pastor Jim and Bobby about adopting us if he disappeared, or in case he died, stuff like that. When it didn't blow over in a few weeks, it started freaking me out." He shifted, his whole body sore and uncomfortable. "So I started doing other research when Dad sent us to the library. You assumed I was reading comics or girly mags or something, so I let you think that. I was researching for a way to keep us together." He shrugged at his brother. "It was my idea, Sammy. I wanted to be sure nobody, not even Dad, could separate us."

He swallowed hard, waiting for the fallout. Dean expected Sammy to go ballistic over this one, rant and rave about how terrible a father Dad was to allow something like this to happen.

"It...it was because..._you_ were worried?" Sam asked, trickles of sweat running from the corners of his eyes. At least, it had better be sweat. Dean nodded. "But... Why would Dad sign that? It reads like he wanted to get rid of me."

Dean snorted. "Please. As if. It took me a year to get him to sign that, and then he refused to tell you about it because we were afraid you'd see it that way." Well, one little lie couldn't hurt much, could it? Dad had signed it in a split second, totally relieved over the fact Dean could legally take custody of Sammy, but Sam didn't need to know that part.

"Are you sure he wasn't just waiting for you to be declared an emancipated minor?" Sam asked in a voice that made him sound like a little kid.

"Nah," Dean waved off the suggestion. "We did it all at once. He was the one who insisted on waiting until I was at least seventeen." He took a deep breath as he studied his little brother. "Feel better? Or worse?"

Sam shook his head, intently studying a blade of grass between his fingers. "I'm not sure," he finally said slowly. "I need to think it over."

"Anything else happen at school today?" Dean asked. "With the bully?"

Sam's head shook as he ripped the blade of grass into tiny pieces. "Nah, but I did mouth off to my principal. Twice." His eyes cut to look at Dean. "Push-ups?"

If Sammy thought that would be his only punishment, well, he was probably right. "Depends. What'd you say?"

"Well, he asked if you really had a job, and I said something like 'you think he supports us hustling pool.'" Dean groaned and rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, I know. Sorry. Then he asked me what happened when I was in trouble and I told him I had to run extra laps, and I asked if being in shape was considered abuse now." Sam sighed heavily. "And I took off after that girl asked me if there was someone I could go to protect me. As if I needed to be protected from you." He snorted over that, hard and angry.

Dean considered it. Honestly, he thought Sam reacted pretty well, and the fact his little brother took off when they started in on him, well, it made Dean feel pretty good. "An extra twenty push-ups," he decided.

Sam crooked an eyebrow at him. "Only twenty? What else, Dean?"

He hated to do this part but it was necessary, especially with CPS sniffing around. "Tomorrow morning you and I are going to see your principal before school so you can apologize."

Sam groaned and flopped back on the ground. "Oh, come on, Dean!" His head turned to look at Dean. "Honestly? Would you do that?"

Dean nodded at his brother. "If Dad told me to? Yeah, I would. Besides, with CPS involved it'll look better, like I have control of the situation and you're being raised with manners."

Sam groaned again, grabbing his wet hair in both hands. "Fine," he forced out. Then his head snapped in Dean's direction again. "Dude, I almost forgot to tell you! He bought the creepy nurse story."

Dean laughed at that. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

Sam sat up again, grass sticking to his wet hair. "No, man, really. He asked if there were any women in the family I saw on a regular basis, and I said no. Then he said he understood why I might think the nurse was creepy."

Dean groaned as he rolled his eyes. "Dude, only you would get the attention of a whacko principal."

"So you don't know what he meant either?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "You got me. How about those push-ups now?"

Sam grunted as he rolled over into position. Dean counted off as Sam exercised. When Sam was done, he counted for Dean as he did as many one-handed as he could. Then they did their sit-ups together. Dean wondered what they could do for supper that would annoy Sam, since his little brother wasn't even close to being off the hook yet, not while there was plenty of opportunity for needling.

* * *

"You're sure it was him?" The man with nasty bruising starting around his left eye and reaching down his left cheek asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure." A second man with a single bruise across his right cheek answered. He had other trophies from their shared fight, namely a dislocated shoulder and a cracked shin.

"So what's the plan?" The third man whose ankle was in a cast and who sported bruising along his jaw on both sides asked.

"I say we nab the kid," the second man said.

"What if the kid fights like he does?" the first man asked.

The third man limped to stand in between them. "Let's order a few beers. We don't have to decide this second. They'll still be there tomorrow. The kid goes to school, right?"

"Right," the second man replied. "I saw that asshole drop the kid off at the high school this morning."

"And the kid never goes to work with him, so maybe this weekend after he works the late shift?" the first man suggested.

"Go order the beer," the third man ordered. "We're going to need a better plan this time than just jumping him."

"On it."


	10. Ch 10:Rebel With A Cause

As always, this is _**Charis-Kalos**_' story, written especially for her. The rest of us are just along for the ride, and so far it's been a nice one! Thanks for all the reviews and to all the lurkers out there for following this pre-series fic. We really appreciate it!!

**Chapter Ten: Rebel With A Cause**

Sam dragged his feet the whole way into school in the morning. Dean sighed heavily as he had to wait on his brother. Again. More like still.

"Dude, I have to make it to Billy's in time for lunch. Pick up those boats you call feet and move it!" Dean snapped.

Sam rolled his eyes dramatically as he followed at a more reasonable pace. Satisfied, Dean led the way to the high school office. He knocked on Sam's principal's door.

The door opened quickly, the thirty-something principal sporting a shocked expression in the doorway.

"Can we come in?" Dean demanded, motioning inside the room.

"Uh, yes. Of course." Jones stood aside. When Sam did not follow, Dean grabbed him by the jacket and hauled him inside. Sam stood beside him, head down.

"Sam?" Dean glared at his brother. "Do it, Sam," he hissed.

Sam made another dramatic eye roll. "Sorry I mouthed off yesterday, Principal Jones."

"Thank you," Dean told him. He locked gazes with Sam's principal. "That work for you? Or do you want some push-ups too?"

The man blinked at Dean a few times. Dean smiled smugly; he loved catching assholes off-guard.

"What about Sam running out during his detention?" he asked.

"Well," Dean said slowly, positioning himself between Sam and the principal, "considering what you tried to pull, I don't really blame him. Even if it were true, that was a stupid idea. You really opened yourself up to a potential lawsuit, you know."

Jones' eyes widened. Clearly the jackass hadn't thought that far ahead.

"It's a good thing we can't afford an attorney." Dean stepped forward, within striking distance. "Try another stunt like that, and I'll move Sam into another school district. Are we clear?" he demanded.

Jones glanced between him and Sam before swallowing hard and nodding. "I guess I owe you both an apology."

Dean held up one hand. "Don't bother. I don't want to hear it, just don't let it happen again. So what kind of detention can Sam expect today?" He crossed his arms over his chest to wait out an answer he liked.

"Well, we never did get around to discussing Sam becoming a mathlete." Jones sounded like he was reaching.

"What the hell is that? Mathlete?" Dean asked. He glanced back at Sam.

"Math-based competition with other high schools," Sam explained quickly. "It might be fun."

Dean turned to face Jones again as he shrugged. "If you want to, Sammy."

"Sam," his little brother corrected him instantly.

Dean glanced back, throwing Sam his best but-I'm-older-so-I-can-say-whatever-I-want smirk. Sam glared at him. Dean shrugged again as he returned his attention to Jones. "So do I need to sign some permission slip or something for this mathlete thing?"

"Uh, yes. Actually you do." Jones hurried to his desk. He rummaged in a few drawers before pulling out a sheet of paper. "Here."

Dean took and skimmed it. He did not turn around this time, maintaining eye contact with Jones. "You sure you want to, Sam?"

"Sure." He could almost hear his brother shrug.

"And anytime you want to quit..." Dean left the offer hanging, eyes still locked with Jones'.

"Yeah, I know, Dean. No problem."

Dean nodded and motioned for Jones to hand over a pen. He did and Dean signed. He tossed the paper back on the principal's desk. He hardened his glare on Jones. "And no CPS interviews without my knowledge; no psychiatric visits; no specialists who happen to be making rounds of the high schools. Missing his classes annoys Sam. And when Sam's annoyed..." he paused dramatically, "I'm annoyed."

Without waiting for a response, Dean spun around to face his brother. "What kind of grades are you expecting here, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," his little brother said in a very annoyed tone. "Probably all A's. Why? Don't tell you're worried." A thin smile snaked across Sam's face, which Dean found reassuring.

"Nah. As long as you don't flunk out, I don't care. You know that." This was mostly for Jones' benefit, but it didn't make it any less true.

"You know," Sam said slowly, "I'm sure your grades would've been better if you'd bothered to study."

Dean groaned, waving Sam out of the principal's office. The principal just watched them go, not saying a word or making a move to stop them. "Dude, who had time? Between looking after you and work, I was doing good just to graduate. Now get your ass to class!"

"Later, Dean!" Sam called out as he headed down the hall, looking far more relaxed than he had on the way in.

"I'll be in student parking!" Dean shouted over the din of students now flooding into the halls.

Sam waved back, his long arm visible over the sea of heads. Relieved, Dean escaped outside to his car. Now if only the people at work were as easy to deal with.

* * *

Sam felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As he headed for Principal Jones' office after school, he wondered what kind of meetings mathletes had. Did they do advanced math problems outside of school requirements? That would be pretty cool. He hoped they covered concepts as well as problem-solving methods. Just knowing what to do was not as important as knowing why.

He knocked on the office door and it was opened quickly. Jones had a strange expression on his face as he motioned for Sam to come in. Sam was hoping for a boring hour of homework today, especially after Dean's lecture this morning.

Jones motioned for him to sit in a visitor's chair and Sam's hopes were dashed. He sat on the corner of his desk and stared for a while at Sam before speaking.

"Perhaps I judged your brother too quickly," he said slowly. Sam felt his shoulders relax. Finally, the man was seeing sense! "Why don't you tell me a little bit about your home life?"

Sam tensed up again. This really did sound like a CPS interview. "What about it?" he demanded.

Jones shrugged, spreading his hands wide. "Anything. Where you live, what kind of work your brother does, how you work out together. Your brother certainly seemed supportive of you joining an academic school team. Is he always so supportive?"

Sam shrugged, still suspicious. "Only if I want to," he said slowly. "Dean never pushes me to join school teams." Sam almost told how much his brother hated high school jocks, but he managed to stop himself in time.

"Go on." Jones smiled warmly at him.

Sam had no idea what the man was up to now. "Well, I guess you know we live in a motel room," he said slowly. "I know it's in my file." He waited for Jones to respond. The man only nodded, clearly giving Sam the opportunity to have his say. "We work out Sunday through Thursday evenings. Dean works Friday and Saturday nights, and during the day Monday through Friday."

"Your brother doesn't work nights Sunday through Thursday? Why not?" Jones' head tilted, making Sam feel like his entire life was under a huge magnifying glass.

"Those are school nights. He never works on school nights," Sam said defensively. After all, it was more than Dad had ever bothered, which gave him a new point for his paper and maybe a basis for that elusive conclusion.

"Your brother must really trust you, if he works on nights when teenagers your age are typically partying," Jones said with a knowing smile.

Sam shrugged. "I don't really go in for the party crowd," he answered truthfully. Parties without Dean weren't much fun anyway.

"Well, if you're using the time to study, it certainly shows," Jones said as he pulled out a thick file. "I finally received copies of all your high school transcripts. You are an excellent student, Sam."

"Actually, those nights are the only time I get to watch what I want on TV.," he replied. The thickness of the file made Sam nervous. What the hell was in there? "I usually study on the nights when Dean is home, in case I need any help," he lied, looking the man directly in the eye. Lying was easy, all you had to learn was how to look someone in the eye while you did it. Most people wouldn't call you on the lie if you could look them in the eye.

"What kind of help?" Jones asked. Sam felt like a tiny, interesting colored bug under Jones' microscope.

"Any kind," he said with a shrug.

"Didn't you mention this morning that his grades weren't very good? How could he help an excellent student like you?" the principal asked.

Sam sighed. He was far too used to how people judged his big brother based strictly on personal appearance. "Dean can do anything he actually wants to do. He never cared about school, so he did just enough to pass, which was all Dad wanted." Sam shrugged. "When I need help, I go to Dean first. He always finds a way, even if it means he actually has to learn something." He motioned to the thick file on Jones' desk. "How else could I keep up my grades like that?" he demanded, hoping it would make Dean look good.

"Sam, what would happen if you were to take home a bad grade?" Jones asked.

"Failing?" he asked, wondering where his principal was going with this. "Or just not an A?"

"Failing," Jones stated flatly.

Sam thought it over seriously. "Well, as long as it didn't put me in danger of being held back, probably nothing."

"And if something were to happen," Jones pressed, "what would happen?"

Sam ran a hand through his hair. He was getting pretty frustrated with his principal. After checking his watch he saw only ten minutes had passed. Oh, God, this was going to take forever, and here he was, stuck with a principal who was convinced he was being abused in some way. Sam slumped down in the chair.

"The worst thing that my dad or brother has ever done to me is ground me from television or the library. Normally all I have to do is run extra laps or some extra sets of push-ups, which happens almost any time Dad is home." Sam winced on purpose, as if he hadn't meant to let the last part slip.

"Why is that?" Principal Jones jumped on the bait.

"Because..." Sam sighed heavily, like this part was really difficult to admit. "Dad and I don't really get along." His head dropped down, pressing his chin into his chest. Please, Sam thought, ask me.

"And what does that mean to you, Sam? That you and your dad don't get along?" Jones' voice was soft and sympathetic.

Sam shrugged as he lifted his head defiantly. "Not much. My brother has custody."

Jones' glare so made that worth it. Sam grinned at his principal's consternation. It was freaking awesome. Maybe this was the reason Dean spent so much time in the principal's office, to jack with authority figures like this since his brother would never dream of crossing Dad. It felt pretty good. Too bad Dean wouldn't put up with him pulling crap like this for too long. On the plus side, it could convince Dean to move. Soon. He hoped.

* * *

Dean had planned on taking a nap while Sam was in detention, but he couldn't relax enough to fall asleep. There was something about this Jones character he just didn't like. The guy was just too...interested. It wasn't like he was just worried about Sam, but more like he was convinced there was something wrong in Sam's life and he was going to find it. That made Dean all kinds of nervous. He checked his watch. School had let out twenty minutes ago. Screw it. He had a pretty good case for sitting in on Sam's detention after the crap they pulled yesterday anyway.

Dean marched into the school like he owned the place. If you acted like you belonged, people rarely challenged you. It looked like his timing was right for a change, there was no one manning the office when he walked in. Dean was able to make it all the way to the principal's door without anyone stopping him. Before knocking, he pressed an ear against the door.

"What kind of research?" Jones asked.

"School research," Sam replied, sounding irritated and very defensive.

Yeah, Dean had taken too damn long to come in and now he had a lovely evening of annoyed-Sammy to look forward to. He just might have to beat the crap out of Jones and move. Tonight. After chuckling to himself over actions he would never actually take, because the guy hadn't really done anything to warrant it – yet, Dean turned the knob and pushed open the door.

Sam was glaring at his principal with the same look he had just before challenging Dad about a hunt. Well, maybe Dean had arrived just in the nick of time after all. Jones clearly had no idea what he was dealing with in Sam.

"Sam," Dean used his 'don't fight' tone, even though it almost never worked any more.

Relief flowed over Sam's features when he turned around, which made Dean feel pretty damned good. Jones looked thoroughly annoyed, but dealing with irate principals was nothing new to him. Dean plopped into the chair next to Sam and kicked his foot over his knee.

"So," he said loudly, "what's the topic of today's detention?" He shot his brother a cocky grin, gratified when Sam relaxed a little and the pissy expression dropped.

"Dad," Sam replied and Dean swore he could see the tension flowing from his little brother's shoulders as Sam leaned back in his seat.

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically. "Oh, your favorite subject," he said sarcastically, figuring Sam would understand. "Now what are you telling them? That Dad won't let you eat until your research is done?"

Confusion flitted briefly through Sam's eyes before understanding settled in. "Nope, I said I'd have to do an extra set of push-ups for every ten minutes over my limit."

Dean groaned as if this were an old game. He scrubbed a hand down his face. "And I suppose you have to run extra miles for mouthing off, too?" he asked.

"And no television and you get to order all the pizza," Sam added, totally deadpan.

Dean had to admit it, the kid was good. He looked at Jones. "Now that's a lie. I don't even remember the last time I got to pick what kind of pizza we ordered." He frowned and scratched the top of his head as he turned to his brother. "Sam? Do we eat?"

Sam nodded seriously. "Every Thursday."

Dean blew out a breath of relief. "Oh, good. I thought I was forgetting something important."

"Then Dad would have to kick your ass," Sam replied just as seriously. His eyes cut over to Dean. "You know. Again."

That did it. Dean couldn't keep a straight face any longer. He laughed at Sam, slapping his brother in the shoulder. Sam elbowed him back, also laughing. Just the thought of Dad actually hitting one of them was too much. Sparring? Sure. Just out to kick his ass? No freaking way. Sam knew he couldn't keep a straight face over that one.

"Bitch," he teased, shoving Sam in the arm.

"Jerk," Sam threw back instantly, shoving him.

"That's what? Two miles?" Dean asked, grinning broadly.

"Oh, shut up," Sam chuckled, settling back in his chair. "Hey, can we just grab some drive-through tonight after we work out? I have a history project."

Dean nodded at his brother. "Yeah, no problem. What's the project, anything good?"

The expression on Sam's face gave him some hope. "Salem witch trials."

Dean smiled broadly. "Awesome. Dad has a couple of good books you can use."

Sam returned Dean's smile. "Why do you think I picked it?"

"Anything I can do?" Dean asked.

"Well, I could use someone to check my historical accuracy," Sam told him and he sounded serious.

Dean waited a moment to see if this was leading to a new joke, but Sam just sat there waiting expectantly for his answer as though he did this kind of thing for Sam all the time. Yeah, right. "Yeah, of course," he said with a shrug. "You know I will."

Sam glared at Jones. "See? Told you."

Dean glanced between them a couple of times before asking, "Told you what?"

"Sam has been most earnest about the fact you're a good guardian," Jones explained. "I would still like to know where the scratches and bruises on his arms came from."

Dean shrugged, deciding maybe it was time to play dumb. "So would I, but the kid's not talking."

Sam appeared startled for a moment, but only a moment. He crossed his arms stubbornly over his chest and pointedly looked away, thank God. Now maybe Jones would see it as a mystery and pick someone else to be the butler who did it.

Dean jabbed a thumb in his brother's direction. "Stubborn bastard, just like Dad. I've tried everything I can think of, but he won't tell me." Then he snorted as a fresh opportunity occurred to him. "Probably thinks I'll go kick their asses."

Sam's glare was hot on his face. "You know hitting a minor is illegal, Dean," he said slowly with a definite undercurrent of anger. "You are not going to jail and sticking me with Dad."

Dean spread his hands wide, helplessly. "See what I mean?"

"Would you?" Jones asked.

Dean's answer was a broad smile as he settled back in his chair. Let the jerk-off worry about whether or not he would, just so long as the man understood no one would be coming after his brother, from bullies to CPS. No one. As a matter of fact, now that Sam knew about his job, there was no reason for Sammy to stay at the room alone. He would be able to keep an eye on little brother at all times now.


	11. Ch 11:Shades of Things to Come

_**Charis-Kalos**_, thanks so much for taking the time to edit the latest chapter in _**your**_ story. See I knew she was working on this week's sermon when I sent her the latest chapter and taunted her with temptation to blow off writing the sermon for this. But she finished her sermon first and then took the time to proof this. (_grumble, grumble_) Well, nobody's perfect, right?

**Chapter Eleven: Shades of Things To Come**

Sam rubbed a towel over his hair as he stepped out of the cramped motel bathroom. Dean sat on the edge of his bed, cramming the last of his fries in his face.

"Don't think I didn't notice you weren't wearing your sling today," Sam said, draping the towel around his shoulders. "Put it on after you shower."

Dean gave him a dirty look. "Okay, D-a-d," he said through a full mouth. After Sam walked toward his stuff, Dean stood up to head for the bathroom. He paused right outside the bathroom door. "When did you notice? In the principal's office or on the way home?"

Sam avoided his brother's eye as he dug through his clean clothes for something comfortable to wear. He shrugged, not wanting to admit it wasn't until after they worked out and were sitting in line at the drive-thru. If their positions had been reversed, Dean would have noticed immediately. When did Sam notice? When his ass was no longer in the frying pan and he had worked off his extra energy. Yeah, some brother he was.

After he heard the door close, Sam glanced back. Dean hadn't pressed him for an answer? No. He knew better than that. Dean rarely pressured Sam about anything, except getting along with Dad. Could he use that in the conclusion for his paper?

Dean showered quickly. Sam barely had time to dress before his brother stepped back out into their shared room. "Are you planning to narc on me?" he asked as he snagged a shirt from his side of the cheap motel dresser.

"Dean, I'm afraid your shoulder won't heal right unless you wear it," Sam insisted. "And Dad said it was an order. I can't believe you ignored Dad's order."

Dean grimaced at him. "I wore it all day, Sam."

Sam frowned as he eyed his brother suspiciously. "Then why weren't you wearing it at my school?"

A lop-sided grin was his only answer as Dean settled his arm in the sling. Sam's eyes widened with the realization. "In case you needed to beat up my principal? Dean!"

The amusement fell from Dean's face. "Dude, I never said that."

"You didn't have to!" Sam dropped down on his bed. "Well," he reflected, "the guy is an ass."

Dean's responding chuckle was exactly what Sam expected and needed to hear. "Man, is he. I'll bet he has 'personal' friends in CPS. They haven't given up on you yet, Sam. Just wait."

Sam groaned as he reached for his school bag. "Great. Exactly what I wanted to look forward to."

"So do we need to hit the library before Friday?" Dean asked him. Sam had no idea where Dean was going with this. "Dude, if you don't want a new book to read while I work, that's fine. You can sit at the bar and watch crappy sports news if you want."

"While you work?" Sam demanded. "You want me to go to work with you? Why?"

Dean shrugged as he settled back on his bed, pillows propped under his head. His eyes slipped shut as he replied, "Why not? You'd rather sit around here by yourself?"

Sam very nearly answered that yes, he would, but he caught himself in time. If he went with Dean, he could make sure his brother wore the sling at work. Yeah, this could work out pretty damn well.

"And be sure you get those historical facts right in your paper..." Dean yawned broadly. "Or you'll make me look bad."

Sam glared until he could tell from his brother's breathing that Dean was asleep. He shook his head, still not quite believing the mess they were in, as he flipped to a new spot in his notebook to start his history project.

* * *

Justin smiled at the girl who worked in the front office. She was awfully plain with stringy hair, but he flirted with her anyway.

"Do you ever listen in?" he asked as he leaned in closer. Her cheeks flushed pink as she shook her head. What was her name again? Lauren? Laura? Lori? "Oh, come on, Lori," he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I'll bet you hear some really juicy stuff, huh?"

She glanced around before giving him a quick grin and nod.

Justin propped his arm on her desk and rested his chin in his hand. "Like what? Or would you rather talk about it tonight at the movies?"

Her eyes went wide and round. "Movies? Tonight?"

Justin smiled again. Flattery worked so well with girls who weren't pretty. "I know," he continued, "you can tell me some stories at lunch today. You don't mind if I sit with you today, do you Lori?" He would rather not wait until tonight for information on Winchester if he could help it.

Her face lit up. "That'd be great! I sit along the wall near the auditorium."

Justin looked right in her eyes as he lied, "Yeah, I know. I'll see you at lunch." He winked before heading to class. He was already fifteen minutes late, but it would be worth it if Lori knew anything useful. Besides, it wasn't like he would be given detention anyway.

* * *

"Not yet, Dad." Dean's voice sounded firm and final. Damn it!

"Dean, if you told him, I should be there. To explain my side of it," John argued as he shoved aside his current research.

"No, Dad." Now it was that blasted patient and understanding voice. "I already explained everything. He's doing okay with it. Sammy just needs a little time to process. Then when you come home and everything is just like normal, he'll get it. I swear."

John threw his ballpoint at the wall, where it embedded in the cheap motel sheetrock. "Dean, he wasn't ready."

"Maybe," Dean replied. "But he already knew about the custody, Dad. It wasn't like I could put him off forever. You know how Sam is."

The pen stuck out into the room, an intrusion on an otherwise peaceful and uninterrupted wall. He sighed heavily, knowing the truth of Dean's statement. "Yeah, I guess," he grudgingly replied. "How'd he take it?"

"Better than I thought," Dean told him and John could hear the truthfulness of the statement. That, or it was wishful thinking on his part. "Honest, Dad, the crap he was coming up with on his own was much worse. He was driving both of us crazy with it."

John leaned back, running a hand over his unshaven face. Yeah, he should've seen this one coming. "Sounds like your brother," he admitted. "So now what?"

He heard Dean shrug. Really. He heard it. "Give us about a week. If you don't hear otherwise from me, come on home if your hunt is finished. How's it going?"

And Dean changed the subject. Really, his son could be so frigging predictable - and so damned perfect for their family. He didn't deserve Dean. And he knew it.

"Not great," he admitted. "I thought I had this thing figured out, but it's not what I thought."

"Didn't you think it was a werewolf?" Dean asked. "What happened?"

"It's not a full moon, son," John told him. "And there was an attack last night. So now I'm hitting the books again."

"Want us to do some research on our end?" Dean offered. Damn, it was almost like the kid could read his mind.

"Yeah, actually, I would," he replied. "There's not much of a library in this backwater town. It'd be great if I had some kind of killing pattern to go by."

"Sure, Dad," his son responded instantly. "No problem. Sammy and I'll hit the library right after school tomorrow, unless his math team thing is meeting."

"Math team?" John demanded. "What math team?"

"Don't worry, Dad," Dean said with a chuckle. "We'll get the research done."

"Wait, Dean!" John practically shouted, fearing his son would hang up.

"Yes, sir?"

He chewed his bottom lip a moment as he composed himself. "What math team, Dean? I'd like to know."

"They call it being a mathlete. I swear, Dad, I'm expecting pocket protectors to be required. Kids from other schools compete in math, of all frigging things." Dean let out a good chuckle. "Hell, I thought it'd look good to let him be on a school team, so I signed the permission slip. Really didn't think you'd have a problem with it?"

"No," John said on a sigh. "I don't. You know I don't. But Dean?"

"Yes, sir?"

"I don't know that you'll be able to stay there until school lets out," John warned.

"I know, Dad. I'm just tired of making sure every frigging school puts Sam in the right classes. That last school wasted two weeks while they verified his transcripts and Sam sat with kids who couldn't spell their own damn names." Dean grunted into the phone. "It'd be nice not to have to worry about that kind of crap until fall."

John groaned at the request. Yes, he knew. He did. He listened to Dean, even when his son didn't think he did. "I can't make any promises, Dean. But if they try to take Sammy..."

"We'll be in the next state before they figure out we left," Dean promised in a stern voice. John could believe that voice, it had never lied and never let him down.

"Okay, son," he said gently. "I'll see you in about a week."

"Okay, Dad," Dean replied. "Be careful."

"I will, and you keep that damn sling on!" John hung up before Dean could reply. No way his son could ignore or try to weasel out of the order now.

* * *

Damien Jones stared at the phone on his desk trying to decide if he wanted to call his friend Grant with CPS. On the one hand he really wanted to know if Dean Winchester had a job, but on the other hand he did not want to do anything to spook Sam again. Calling Carol in had clearly been a horrible idea.

While he contemplated his options the phone rang, startling him so bad he jumped in his chair. With a shaking hand, Damien picked up the receiver. "H-hello?" he stuttered.

"Jonesy!" Grant's normally stoic voice was unusually upbeat. "I have some news for you!"

"The brother has a job," he replied woodenly.

"How'd you know?" Grant demanded, but before Damien could answer, his old friend cut him off. "It's Billy's Bar and Grill. I gave them a call and spoke with Winchester's supervisor, said this was a routine inquiry since the brother has only had custody for a few years. When they left your office the other morning, after giving you copies of the custody paperwork, Winchester took his brother to work with him. In a bar."

Damien mulled it over. "Are you saying you have cause now? For an investigation?"

"Maybe," Grant replied. "I'm having our legal department go over the custody paperwork now. Taking a minor into a bar is not the most responsible action, but considering it was either that or leave him in a motel room by himself for the day after fighting in class, I'm not sure a judge will consider it an issue. However when we combine that with fighting during class and the mysterious bruises on his arms, I'm pretty confident I can get a formal case opened."

"What if..." Damien could not believe he was about to suggest an alternative. "What if the bruises are related to Sam's fighting, not to the brother or father?"

Grant's groan was loud through the phone. "Playing Devil's Advocate now, Damien? Okay, let's say that's true. First of all, any kid acting out like that, during class, has issues at home; I don't care how you sugarcoat it. Secondly, I read the teacher's eyewitness report. That boy has been trained to fight and personally, I'd like to know how and why. You're the one who started this!"

He sighed as he traced the outline of his deskpad. "Okay, Grant. But I want you to meet them in person, not just read the reports. I really thought the brother was physically abusing him, but now I'm not so sure. You need to see them together."

"It could be the father," Grant replied. "Wasn't that the original reason you called, because you thought Sam was a victim of neglect?"

"I can set it up for today after school," Damien challenged. "What do you say? Can you make it?"

"Sure," Grant said. "I'd like to meet these kids. By then legal should be done with our copies of the custody paperwork and I'll have a better idea of the agency's position on them. Will they know I'm coming?"

"No way," Damien replied. "They'd probably bolt. Sam has after-school detention in my office everyday this week. I'll just invite the brother to join us today. I'm sure he'd prefer it to sitting in the parking lot." Plus he knew Dean Winchester did not trust him at all and was liable to show up uninvited anyway.

"All right," Grant agreed. "I'll see you right after school. Dinner?"

"You bet," Damien agreed with a smile. "It'll be good to see you and your expense account."

"Ha-ha. Later."

"See ya, Grant," Damien said before hanging up.

Okay, one quick phone call to Winchester and it would all be set. As expected, the older brother jumped at the opportunity to sit in on Sam's detention. Now all he had to do was get through the rest of the day.

* * *

Dean slipped his cell back into his pocket before grabbing a tray of drinks for a customer. Sam's principal wanted him to join Sam for detention? Was he supposed to suffer like Sam or observe Sam suffering? Well, either way Dean would take the man up on it. At least this way he would be able to keep an eye on things and make sure that whacko principal didn't try to pull a fast one.

The rest of the day passed interminably slowly. Dean kept one eye on the clock, his mind churning with different scenarios of what might happen this afternoon. The closer it came to quitting time, the more certain Dean felt this Jones character was up to something. Well, if it was really bad, they could always make it out to the car and hit the road. He would have to gas up on the way to Sammy's school, just to play it safe.

While he filled up the Impala, Dean decided not to wear his sling into the school. Yeah, it would tick Sammy off, but he didn't want the stupid thing hindering him if he needed both arms. Technically it wasn't disobeying orders either, because he would only be taking it off for Sam's detention. He could even take it with him... Nope. The damn thing could wait in the car.

With a mounting sense of dread, Dean approached Sam's school. This time the outer office was not empty, but they were expecting him. He was ushered into Jones' office. Sam's principal sat behind his huge freaking desk. The asshole was probably compensating for something. The thought brought a grin to his face he just couldn't lose.

"Dean?" Little brother walked in. "What's up?" His eyes darted between Dean and Jones.

Dean shrugged as he inclined his head slightly for Sam to sit next to him. "I was invited."

Sam's eyes widened as he sat slowly. "I swear, Dean, I haven't been fighting again."

Dean shrugged again. Honestly, he didn't much care as long as Sam didn't draw too much attention to himself. Or lose.


	12. Ch 12:The Interview

My apologies for the delay. Real Life has this horrible habit of getting in my way! Big shout-out to _**charis-kalos**_. This is your story and I hope it cheers you up!!

**Chapter 12: The Interview **

Grant knocked lightly on Damien's door. Despite their paths occasionally crossing in the professional sense, it wasn't often he saw his old friend at work. He was not prepared for how much Damien actually looked the part of a high school principal sitting behind the overbearing oak desk.

"Here he is." Damien stood and waved him in. Grant closed the door behind him, turning slowly to face the other two people in the room.

One was clearly a high school boy, terribly tall, with brown hair hanging in his eyes. The other was a young man, early twenties, with short cropped hair, jeans with tears in the knees, and a cocky attitude. Even without opening his mouth Grant could see the attitude. The boy tensed at his arrival while the young man grinned, shifting to a more comfortable position in his chair.

"Dean and Samuel Winchester," Damien said. "This is CPS caseworker Grant Tibbs."

The older one, Dean, plastered on a fake smile as he shook Grant's hand. Sam appeared somewhat sheepish but he had a firm handshake. Grant was not sure what to make of them. Yet.

"Good afternoon," he greeted, sitting on one corner of Damien's desk. "I supposed you're both aware for the reason behind this interview?"

"Interview?" Dean asked. He sounded pleasant enough, but his eyes were hard. "I thought you were supposed to schedule those."

"Typically we do," Grant admitted. "But you two are considered a flight risk, so I went a less conventional route. How's the shoulder, Dean?"

"Fine." Dean no longer sounded pleasant. Or fine.

"Dean?" Sam's eyes were pinned to his brother. "Where is it?" he demanded.

Dean shot his little brother a sharp glare. Sam glared back, hot and unyielding. Grant watched an entire conversation pass between the brothers, unspoken and impossible for an outsider to follow. Then Sam nodded once and leaned back in his chair. Oh, how Grant wished for an interpreter at this moment.

"Where is what?" Grant asked, watching both boys carefully.

"Nothing," Dean snapped, a little too quickly. It was certainly something.

"Very well," Grant replied. "Let's discuss what happened to your shoulder."

"What for?" Dean demanded. "It wasn't like Sam was there. I wasn't at work when it happened, either."

"That's true," Grant agreed. "According to the officers who came by your room, you were jumped in the alley behind the pool hall. Are you sticking by that story?"

Dean's cocky smile returned. "Yep. What of it?"

Grant returned the smile. "The waitress at the pool hall certainly remembers that night. According to her, you took down the four guys who jumped you." He noticed Sam's face darken as the younger boy glared at his brother. "Which fits almost perfectly with the way Sam was able to knock out a linebacker with some fancy moves. Not the kind of moves you see in street fighting, the kind someone has to teach you."

He waited, hoping one of them would give him some kind of opening.

"You learn moves from street fighting," Dean replied in an even voice, "if you're on the right street."

Sam snickered, but covered it up quickly with one hand. Grant still noticed and stared at both boys, not buying the glib response.

Dean sighed heavily, like he carried a huge burden. "I used to compete," he said, much to Grant's surprise. "Junior mid-states runner-up." He shrugged. "Sam never wanted to compete, Dad kind of took it a little too seriously."

The boys shared a long look of mutual understanding.

"As in...?" Grant prompted.

"You've heard of those crazy stage mothers?" Sam asked. Grant nodded. "Put one of them in jeans and a plaid shirt, with a beard, and make her about a hundred times crazier during competition. That's Dad."

Dean chuckled briefly, stopping himself with a hand running down over his face.

"Is that why he gave you custody?" Grant asked.

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Dad travels for work all the time. He got a promotion a few years ago and it meant more time on the road, not less. I didn't want Sammy having..."

"Sam," the younger boy said, interrupting.

Dean shot him an aggravated look before continuing his story. "Like I was saying, I didn't want _**Sam**_ having to start over in a new school every couple of weeks." Dean leaned over to say in a stage whisper, "Makes him cranky."

Sam's eyes rolled expressively, but he didn't say anything.

"Is that right, Sam?" Grant shifted his attention to the younger brother. "Does it make you cranky?"

Sam's jaw was clenched tight and he could see a muscle jumping in his cheek. Sam sent his brother a murderous glare before nodding. "I usually hate moving."

"I see," Grant replied, although he really didn't. He was less sure of what to make of these two than before he walked in. "And why do you hate moving?"

Sam's eyes rolled all the way back in his head, but he crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head, refusing to answer.

He shifted his attention to the older brother. "Is there a reason Sam hates moving?" Grant tried.

Dean gave him a curious look. "Does any kid like moving every couple of weeks? Seriously?"

"Good point," Grant admitted. "Okay, then let's talk about those bruises on your arms, Sam," he suggested. "I understand from your principal you claim they weren't caused by your father or brother."

Sam nodded curtly, still mute.

"So who caused them?" Grant asked. "And I'm going to need a decent answer or we'll be having more of these interviews, as well as some in-home visitations."

Dean groaned at that, rolling his eyes heavenward. "Oh, come on," he whined. "Seriously," he said, his eyes locking with Grant's, "don't you people have anything better to do? My little brother gets harassed by some jock and defends himself, and you launch a freaking investigation into our home life? What about the bastard who started it? Are you investigating him too?" He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs and looking for all the world like he could leap into action any second. "If you ask me, that's the kid who has problems at home."

"Thank you, Mister Winchester," Grant began coldly, wanting to maintain control of the situation.

"Dean," he snapped. "Mister Winchester is our father." He pointed a finger at Grant. "And you're damned lucky he's out of town right now."

It was strange, but Grant believed Dean's last statement. "All right. Let's try some different questions, for Sam. Would that be all right?" he asked Dean.

Dean leaned back, one out-sweeping arm inviting Grant to ask away.

"Sam. How many meals do you eat each day?" Grant asked, focusing on Sam.

Sam shrugged. "Four. Sometimes five."

"Four?" Grant was stunned. "You typically eat four meals a day?"

"Sometimes five," Dean added. "Kid's got two freaking hollow legs, if you ask me. Have you seen the size of them?" He pointed to Sam's legs. "Imagine filling those up every day. I'm goin' broke just buying food."

Grant held up a hand to silence Dean. Sam looked worried, but Dean merely shrugged and sat back again.

"When do you eat your meals, Sam?" he asked.

"Breakfast, before Dean drops me off at school. Lunch at school. When Dean picks me up he usually has something for me to eat in the car, like a peanut butter sandwich and fruit. We work out and then dinner, typically drive-thru or pizza delivery." Sam shrugged, glancing over at his brother. "Really? It's too expensive? We can skip the drive-thru and just make sandwiches."

Dean used his elbow to shove his brother in the arm. "I told you, don't worry about it. I got it covered."

"But Dean," Sam protested, "if it costs too much..." His voice trailed off at the hard look his brother was giving him. Sam rolled his eyes again and leaned back in his chair. "Fine," he sighed.

"Sam, you told Principal Jones your brother works Friday and Saturday nights, leaving you at home alone," Grant began.

"So?" Sam demanded. "I _am_ sixteen, I think I'm old enough to stay by myself for a few hours."

"Sa-a-am," Dean said slowly, turning his head to look at his brother. "We talked about this."

Sam's shoulders stiffened. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Dean turned back to Grant. "I assume you were leading up to a question?"

"Uh, yes. I was. Sam, have you ever thrown a party while your brother was at work?" he asked.

Both boys laughed at the question. "With what money?" Dean demanded, chuckling. "Besides, if Sam wanted to throw a party, he'd want me there." Dean's eyes crinkled with amusement. "I'm the life of the party."

Sam laughed at his brother. "You can say that again."

"Sam? You don't have any money of your own? Like an allowance?" Grant asked.

Sam shook his head.

"What about lunch money?" he demanded.

"Free lunch program," Dean answered for his brother. "The best tips are at night, not lunchtime, and I only work two nights a week. I barely make enough to cover rent and food outside of school."

"How often does your father send you money, Dean?" Grant asked, allowing the natural flow of conversation to lead him to the next topic he wanted to investigate.

Sam looked curiously at his brother. Dean shrugged, suddenly looking like he was caught. "When he can," he replied evasively.

"And how often can he, Dean?" Grant pressed.

Dean's glare was hard and icy. "Does it really matter?" he asked, his tone level, obviously exercising far more control than someone of his age should be able to. "Dad doesn't have custody of either of us. We're not living in some condemned, rat-infested hellhole. I make enough to support both of us, but we still qualify for the free lunch program. What more do you want?"

Dean was not your typical twenty-something. How old was he again? He looked mid-twenties but he acted more like he was in his thirties or forties.

"Dean, how long have you been supporting you and your brother?" Grant wanted to know. Sam stared at his brother, as if he could will Dean to answer this question.

Dean held his head up defiantly. "Since I was fifteen. Shut up, Sam!"

Sam's mouth was already open, but it snapped closed at his brother's reprimand.

"Dean? Working at fifteen isn't legal. In any state," Grant informed him.

A cocky half-grin twisted one side of Dean's mouth up. "Gonna arrest me?"

"Uh, no," Grant replied, feeling a little flustered. What had he walked into here? "But I was wondering how you managed to support your brother when you were only fifteen?"

Dean shrugged again, but he definitely looked amused. "Told 'em I was seventeen."

"And they believed you?" Grant demanded.

"I have an honest face," Dean replied. Sam snorted from beside him, shaking his head from side to side. Dean elbowed his brother again.

"Sam, I've seen Dean elbow you a few times since I arrived, but you haven't done it to him once. Is there a reason for that?" he asked, feeling he had potentially spotted a sign of things not being equal between them, of Dean exercising physical dominance.

Sam made a face. He jerked his thumb at his brother's shoulder. "He busted his collarbone on this side. I can't jostle it or I'll hurt him." Then he turned to glare. "And he's supposed to be wearing his sling."

Dean smiled brightly at his brother, as if daring him to keep going on about the sling. Sam shook his head and leaned back in his chair. "You're impossible," he muttered under his breath.

Dean made a show of checking his watch. "Would you look at the time? Man, it really does fly when you're having fun, doesn't it?" He stood up, wincing slightly as he moved his right arm in a short stretch. "Let's go, Sam."

Grant did not miss the relief flooding the younger brother's face as he stood. "And you'll put it back on?" he demanded as he swung his book bag over his shoulder. "When we get to the car?"

"Yes, Sam," Dean groaned, his voice carrying into the small office. "Now get your butt in gear!"

* * *

Damien waited until the brothers were well out of hearing range before asking the obvious. "That's it? You're going to just let them leave like that?"

Grant gave him an odd look. "And how exactly was I supposed to stop them? This was your detention."

Damien groaned, slumping down in his chair. "Well, what did legal say?"

"The custody is air-tight," Grant replied. "I don't know who wrote up the paperwork, but they did a damn good job. Dean has had complete custody of his little brother since he was declared an emancipated minor at seventeen. Even if their father tried to reclaim custody of Sam in court, I doubt he'd be able to do it unless he could prove Dean unfit. Which I don't think he could."

"Why?" Damien asked.

"Why?" Grant demanded. "That kid acts more responsibly than most of your students' parents. How many of them schedule work around school hours and make it work? Sacrifice higher pay for the ability to supervise a minor? Just from watching their interaction I can almost guarantee you Sam isn't being physically or emotionally abused, at least not by his brother. There's definitely something going on with that kid, but it could be just dealing with being the new kid all the time." He shrugged. "Honestly, Jonsey, I don't think you want me to stay involved in this, unless you're looking to run them off."

Damien gripped the arms of his chair with both hands. "So now what do I do?"

Grant shrugged. "Dinner? I found this new place over off sixth."

Damien nodded, putting away the paperwork out on his desk. Maybe he should look into Justin Reynolds, the boy Sam had fought. Sam's older brother might be right, there could be some serious issues with that boy. It would be irresponsible for him to continue to look away.

* * *

Sam watched anxiously until after Dean had the sling on. "Can I drive?" he asked, tossing his bag into the backseat.

Dean hesitated, clutching the keys in his left hand.

"Please?" Sam begged.

Dean rolled his eyes as he tossed the keys at Sam. "Fine. But we're not working out tonight."

"We're not?" Sam asked, catching the keys easily in one hand. "Where are we going?"

"Library," Dean replied, sliding into the passenger seat. "Dad needs us to do some research."

"Why?" Sam asked. "I thought he said it was a werewolf."

"New kill last night," Dean informed him.

Sam slapped himself in the forehead. "It's not a full moon, so it has to be something else." He backed carefully out of Dean's parking space. "What kind of research does he want?"

"Killing pattern," Dean said.

Sam shrugged as he pulled out of the school parking lot. "Shouldn't be too hard."

"Yeah?" Dean challenged. "Then why hasn't Dad found it already?"

Sam chewed his lower lip for a moment before he shrugged again. Part of him wanted to answer that Dad wasn't freaking perfect, the man made mistakes all the time. But Sam knew better than to voice those opinions, not if he wanted a say in what they ate tonight.

"Where's my sandwich?" he asked when they came to a stop at a traffic light.

"You're not driving my car and eating at the same time," Dean snapped. "You can wait five whole minutes until we get to the library."

Sam sighed. "Well, at least tell me what you brought for me."

"P.B. and J, and a couple of pears." Dean shrugged when Sam shot him a look of surprise. "They were on sale."

"You started supporting us when you were fifteen, Dean?" Sam asked, his mind reverting back to the conversation in the principal's office as he wondered how much of what his brother had said was true.

"I believe I said, shut up, Sam," Dean snapped.

Yeah. That one was true.

* * *

"Friday," Justin told his two best friends on the football team. "Winchester is home alone on the weekends while his loser brother is at work."

One of the guys, Carl, gave him a funny look. "I thought you said he lost his job?"

Justin grit his teeth in irritation. "I just said that to egg Winchester on. Worked, didn't it? Way I hear it, CPS is investigating him and his brother."

Carl grinned. "Cool. Nerd girl in the front office tell you that?"

Justin chuckled. "Yup." He glanced between the two boys. "So? Are we doing this?"

"Sure." Carl shrugged. "You know I'm game. Bud?"

Bud nodded. "Looks bad for some punk to take one of us down. We need to teach the punk a lesson."

"Right after the game?" Justin asked, wanting to be sure they were all in agreement. Both boys nodded. Freaking perfect. That Winchester punk was going down.


	13. Ch 13:Patterns

**Chapter 13: Patterns**

Sam tried to focus on the research for Dad, but he was distracted by Dean shifting every few seconds in the hard library chair. He couldn't decide if Dean was bored, antsy from sitting too long, or experiencing pain from his collar bone.

"Want to take a break?" Sam suggested.

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Dad needs a killing pattern. Got anything?"

Sam sighed as he motioned to the article on microfiche. "I found a reference to some similar killings, people literally ripped apart..."

"Ssshhh!" Dean hissed as he moved his chair closer. A woman librarian with hair so stiff she must use an entire can of hairspray each day walked by with an icy glare. The moment she was out of earshot, Dean gave him a nod to continue.

"Literally ripped apart," Sam repeated, lowering his voice, "even the bones cracked open."

"What's that mean?" Dean asked, frowning at the screen.

"It means whatever is doing this is killing people as a food source," Sam explained. "Werewolves just go for the heart because they're not eating to survive, it's more of a vengeance thing. Whatever this is, it's feeding, about every twenty years."

Dean's eyes jumped from the screen to his face. "Where'd you get twenty years from?"

Sam pointed to the date on the article. "The last time it struck was twenty years ago."

Dean nodded as he gestured to his station. "That fits with the article I found from around forty years ago. Sounds like a Wendigo."

Sam nodded in agreement. "Exactly what I was thinking. So do we print this stuff out for Dad?"

Dean's fingers drummed on the surface of the table for a moment. "Nah. Just make some notes. I'll call Dad from the motel and tell him what we found."

Sam turned his head slowly to see if his brother was serious. "Won't Dad want to read the articles?"

Dean shrugged. "He'll take our word for it." He motioned to Sam's school bag. "Come on, geek boy. Take some notes."

Sam sighed as he pulled out a spiral notebook. He wrote down the dates of both articles and the highlights of the carnage and where it had taken place. "Hope Dad believes us," he muttered under his breath.

"He will," Dean assured him. "Don't worry about it. Tell you what, go check out a book to read tomorrow night while I check over your notes."

Sam rolled his eyes as he handed over his notebook. He headed over to the non-fiction section. Maybe this library would stock something interesting on early Christian exorcism rituals. Okay, he would definitely have better luck at Bobby's, but he could hope, right? Wait a minute, what was this? Sam pulled a thick book off the shelf. It claimed to examine rural burial rituals dating from the colonies to modern day. Whoa – cool. Yeah, he'd take this one.

Sam carried his book up to the check out desk. The same librarian from earlier checked his book out. She gave him a strange look as she pushed it across the desk to him. Sam did not bother to make up some stupid excuse.

"It looked interesting," he said in his defense as he took the book.

"Mmmm," was her only reply.

Sam gritted his teeth as he walked back to his brother. He found Dean using his good arm to push to a stand with a grimace on his face, which caused his heart rate to pick up.

"Dean?" Sam rushed to his brother's side. "Are you all right?"

The grimace disappeared so fast Sam wondered if he imagined it. "What are you talking about?"

"You were in pain," Sam insisted. "Weren't you?"

Dean's eyes rolled dramatically up at the ceiling as he sighed heavily. "No, Sam." His head dropped to stare Sam in the eye. "And I'm wearing the freaking sling!" he hissed. "So get off my case!"

Sam straightened up to watch his brother carefully as Dean walked past. Well, he didn't look like he was in discomfort, but Dean was good at not showing emotions or pain. Snagging his school bag quickly, Sam rushed to follow his brother out the door. Dean stood at the front doors, holding them open.

Yeah, this was not normal. Usually he had to run out to the car, sometimes jumping in after Dean started backing out. Sam walked through the doors slowly wondering what was up with his big brother. Dean followed him out to the car. On the way, Sam glanced over his shoulder to find Dean's gaze scouring the area around the library.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, alarmed.

Dean appeared startled for an instant, as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't. "What? Nothin'. Now get your scrawny ass in the car."

Sam paused as he stared at his brother. "Scrawny ass?" he repeated. "Are you freaking serious?"

Dean groaned and rolled his eyes. "In the car, Sam."

Sam figured he had pushed his luck far enough. When Dean was this testy there was usually a reason and it typically involved being in pain. Now how could he possibly convince his stubborn-ass brother to take one of those pain pills tonight? He needed – a plan.

* * *

Three men huddled together at the far end of the pool hall nursing their beers.

"So we're in agreement?" the man with his foot in a cast asked. "Friday night we grab the kid brother."

The others nodded.

"What about Buck?" the man with heavy facial bruising said. "Why isn't he here?"

The man with the cast made a sour face. "He's scared," he spat out. "Claims his ears are still ringing and he's seeing double. I think he's lying about it, though."

The third man snorted over his beer. "Or maybe he has more sense than the rest of us."

"You really think a high school kid can take the three of us?" the man with cast demanded.

The third man glowered. "I didn't think his brother could take the four of us, and see how well that worked out!"

"He's wearing a sling," the first man pointed out. "So we hurt him."

The third man downed the rest of his beer. "Tell that to your foot, his face and shoulder, my face and ribs, and Buck's head." He stood shaking his head. "I'm in, but we shouldn't assume it will be easy. That's all I'm saying."

The first man shrugged and grinned. "Bring it on."

"What are you, a cheerleader?" The third man turned away. "Grow up, Timmy."

"It's Tim!" the first man shouted at his retreating back. "And you know it!"

* * *

Dean opened the door to their motel room with a heavy feeling of dread. He glanced over his shoulder, convinced someone was watching them. Finding nothing which stood out, Dean followed Sam inside and closed and locked the door behind them.

"Paper," Dean ordered as he pulled out his phone. "Or do you have other homework?"

Sam shook his head as he reached for his school bag. "Nah, I finished the rest at school. And yes, the facts in my history paper were accurate, so don't worry about it." A grin snaked its way across Sam's face as he bounced back on his bed with his notebook.

"Good," Dean snapped, selecting Dad's number in his phone.

"Would you like one of the pain pills?" Sam asked, totally out of the blue.

Dean stared at his little brother for a moment. "What the hell for?"

Sam shrugged, his eyes dropping back to his notebook. "Just thought it'd help, you know, take the edge off."

Dean scowled. "Take the edge off of what?" he demanded.

Sam sighed as his head rolled back against the headboard. "Off the pain you're in, Dean. And don't bother lying about it, I can tell."

"I'm fine," Dean stated firmly, pressing the call button and raising his phone to his ear. "Hand me the damn notes."

Sam ripped the page from his notebook with their notes from the library. He frowned briefly before handing them over, no doubt shocked Dean had added a few things which Sam, usually Mister Perfect, had overlooked. Dean took the paper.

"Dean?" Dad's voice demanded.

Instantly comforted by Dad's typically gruff voice, Dean sat on the corner of his bed. "Hey, Dad. Ready?"

"Sure. Shoot," Dad replied.

"We found two other incidents in the area which match what you seem to be in the middle of, each one approximately twenty years apart. The victims' bodies were ripped apart and devoured, even the bone marrow. We think it's a Wendigo," he informed his father.

"Did you make copies of the articles for me?" Dad asked.

"Nope." Dean glanced over their notes again. "But I'm ready for your questions."

"Why didn't you make copies, Dean?" Dad demanded. "Don't tell me money is that tight."

"Okay, I won't," Dean told his father. "Questions?"

Dad sighed. "I'll hit a pool hall before coming home, all right?"

"Whatever," Dean sighed. "Did you want to ask any questions or what?"

There was a long pause. "How're you feeling, son?"

Dean rolled his eyes skyward, wishing there were someone up there who could help him. "Fine, Dad. Questions?"

"How many victims from the two previous attacks?" Dad asked slowly.

Dean consulted their notes. "Forty years ago there were at least ten but the article hinted at more. Twenty years ago fifteen violent deaths were reported."

"Okay, so far we only have four, so there's going to be plenty more. Good, it means I'll have a shot at killing it," Dad replied. "Did the victims have anything in common?"

"As near as we can tell they were all outside, camping or talking a nature walk or hike or crap like that," Dean replied. "But that's it. Honestly we didn't have the time or resources to research all the victims."

"Oh," Dad said weakly. "Yeah, I knew that. Okay, Dean. You and Sam are probably right about it being a Wendigo. I'll check it out and let you know. Next week?"

Dad sounded hopeful. Yeah, great. Dad and Sam would be in the same cramped motel room. Joy. "Yeah, Dad," Dean said, instead of what he was thinking, "sounds good."

"And if it's not," Dad pressed, "you'll call?"

"Yeah, Dad," Dean sighed, shaking his head as he wished for a free hand to scratch at the back of his neck. "You know I will."

"Dean, go take a pain pill," Dad ordered in a firm voice. "Now. While I'm on the phone."

"Wha-why?" Dean stammered.

"Because your damn shoulder hurts, that's why," Dad snapped. "Now do it. I want to hear you swallow."

With a groan, Dean stood up to walk over to the bathroom. He took out a pain pill, just one, and dry swallowed it. "Sir?" he asked feeling extremely irritated.

"Better," Dad said. "Son, if you're in pain, you should be taking them. You don't know it, but you're kind of grouchy when you don't feel well."

Dean's jaw dropped open in shock. He was grouchy? HIM? Well at least he had a freaking excuse!!

"Night, Dean. I'll call in a day or two," Dad said.

"Night," Dean replied, his response on automatic. He pulled the phone slowly away from his ear as his gaze settled on the satisfied smirk on his brother's face.

"Sam," he asked slowly, "am I grouchy when I don't feel well?"

The smirk faded. "Uh, well," Sam seemed to be groping for an answer. "Yeah. Sometimes."

Dean glared at his brother. "So what's yours and Dad's excuses?"

Sam scowled as his eyes dropped back to his paper. "Shut up, jerk."

"Must be PMS, huh, princess?" Dean said snidely. He crumpled their notes into a paper ball which he sent sailing at his brother's head. "Bitch."

Sam shook his head, causing the ball of paper to roll onto the floor. His eyes rolled as if he thought Dean were the dumbest person on the face of the planet, which he probably did.

Dean checked out the window before deciding on whether or not to change for bed. Not spotting even potential dangers, Dean turned away to head for the bathroom.

"Why do you keep doing that?" Sam asked as he stepped into the bathroom. Dean closed the door without answering. What he really needed was a freaking vacation. From his life.

* * *

Sam watched his big brother close the bathroom door with a slam which cut right through him. Crap. Now what had he done to cause that? With a sigh, Sam ran a hand through his hair as he realized it might not be his fault, it was probably Dad. He had only been able to follow Dean's side of the conversation with Dad, but from what he could tell it sounded like Dad had been trying to grill Dean about his collar bone and Dean had steered the topic back to the hunt. But since Dean went to take a pain pill, Sam figured Dad had been as perceptive as usual.

The window thing was bugging him, though. Dean kept peering out there like someone or something might be waiting to get the drop on them. The thought alone was enough to send a chill up Sam's spine. Yeah, he was definitely going with Dean to work tomorrow night, hell, Saturday too. He didn't want Dean alone to be jumped again. It was a good thing he had something interesting to read.

Before he could concentrate on his paper, Sam had to look out the window himself. There was nothing he could see, but anything could be out there in the dark. Stomach twisting in knots over the thought, Sam returned to his bed and his paper. He was glad Dean was home tonight. The elusive conclusion to his paper taunted him, but, with a glance at the closed bathroom door, Sam decided he was a lot closer now.

He made a list of potential points for his conclusion. Sam was still writing away when Dean returned, with the sling on, to sit on the bed. Dean used the television remote to flip through the channels. Sam ignored it, easily tuning out whatever stupid program his brother paused on.

The first version of his conclusion sucked, so Sam ripped it out and balled it up before tossing it on the floor. The second version was worse than the first one. It joined the first on the floor.

"Dude!" Dean snapped from his side of the room. Sam looked up to see what his brother wanted. "At least aim for the freaking trash."

"Sorry," Sam mumbled, reaching down for the crumpled paper.

Dean chuckled. Sam glanced back over. "Gotcha," he said with a wide grin.

Sam relaxed, leaving the paper balls where they were. "Pain pills are working, huh?"

Dean's eyes rolled. "Didn't need them," he replied staunchly, but the grin remained fixed on his face.

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said with a nod, "I know. You're indestructible." Actually, Dean on pain pills was kind of fun to be around. "So how many hot chicks do you meet at work?" he asked conversationally as he returned his pen to paper.

"Plenty," Dean chortled. "Just wait until tomorrow night, Sammy. All the good lookin' ones show up on the weekends."

"I'm not covering for you while you sneak off to the back room," Sam warned, scratching out a bad phrase.

"Nah," Dean said lightly. "Rob does that."

Sam glanced up to see if he was serious. "Really?"

Dean's grin broadened. "Yup. I do the same for him." He chuckled. "Well, I would if he ever managed to score. You'll probably lose your virginity first, Sammy."

"Sam," he corrected automatically. "Who says I haven't?"

A pillow landed on his face. "Dean! I'm doing homework!" Sam tossed the pillow to the side to find

Dean sitting on the end of his bed with wide, shining, expectant eyes. "What?"

"When, Sam?" Dean asked with his lop-sided grin.

"When what?" Sam asked, confused.

"Dude!" Dean slapped him in the leg. "Come on, give. When'd you become a man?"

Oh, crap! "Huh?" Sam asked weakly, wishing the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

"You did use a condom, right? Dad'll be pissed if you didn't. Trust me," Dean told him.

Heat crept into his cheeks, bleeding through his face. "Deeeean," he whined as he lifted his notebook to hide behind.

"Sam," Dean said in his reasonable voice, which meant Sam was going to have to give him some kind of answer. "Just answer the condom question."

Sam nodded from behind his notebook. Dean chuckled and slapped him in the leg again. "You dog! Awesome. Okay, next question."

Sam slumped back against the headboard pressing his notebook against his face. Why oh why did Dad make Dean take a pain pill? He was never going to finish working on his paper tonight!


	14. Ch 14:Family Pains

**Chapter 14: Family Pains**

Sam woke up, still embarrassed by his conversation with Dean last night. It was a good thing he had a great imagination, and the ability to unscramble porn when Dean was gone for the evening, otherwise he wouldn't have been able to come up with details that were vivid enough to satisfy his big brother last night. Sheesh, Dean could be a real pest when he wanted.

Grabbing his notebook, Sam flipped on his bedside lamp. He scribbled out two more versions of his concluding paragraph. Reading them both over, Sam realized if he combined them, it would be a great conclusion. He flipped to the official version of his paper to finally add his conclusion. Hot dog, he might finish his paper in time for school.

"Mmmm...Debbie..." Dean muttered from his bed. "No, no, I knew that, Denise."

Sam chuckled to himself as he wrote the last line. Finished! Thank God, because it was due today. He checked his watch. It was ten minutes before they had to be up. Sam rolled out of bed to take his shower first. Now he wouldn't have to deal with Dean's wet towels all over the bathroom.

The hot water pricked his skin with thousands of invigorating needles. His whole body felt powerful and ready for action as he turned in the shower, allowing the water to work on his back. The soreness from his unscheduled flight into the bookcase was gone. Sam stretched his long body, nearly touching the ceiling. These motel rooms were too small for him and Dean, but better than living out of the Impala. They had to do that during hunts from time to time. Sam would take a cramped motel over sleeping in the car any day.

Freshly washed, Sam turned off the water. He heard noises from Dean moving around in the room. Sam dried himself off before wrapping a towel around his waist and stepping out of the bathroom.

"It's all yours," he said, moving over to find some clean clothes. Well, clean-ish at least. "When are we doing laundry?"

"Sunday," Dean replied. "I get paid tomorrow."

Sam opened his mouth to ask why they didn't have enough money for a couple of loads of laundry, but Dean was already in the bathroom with the door closed. Crap. Maybe he should be eating less. Sam resolved to eat double helpings at school since they didn't have to pay for it.

* * *

Dean braced himself against the sink with his good arm. Oh, God, his shoulder hurt. There had to be a way of preventing himself from rolling over in his sleep. He eyed the pain pills on the counter. Paying for the damn things, and Sam had flat out refused to leave the hospital without them, had nearly bankrupted them. Dean was in no condition to hit the pool hall to hustle extra funds either. He couldn't play with one arm and with the way his shoulder freaking ached, Dean wasn't sure he would make it through a whole game without the stupid sling on.

Well, hell, they were paid for, right? Dean popped one before undressing. He wouldn't have to run the water to get it hot, Sam had beaten him to the bathroom this morning. Maybe he could find some place nearby to hustle poker? He only needed one good hand to play poker. Poker was kind of slow, though. Dean wasn't sure he had the patience for it at the moment. Maybe Dad and Sam were right. Maybe he was slightly grouchy when he didn't feel well. And their excuse again was what? Oh, right. Breathing.

Darts? Well darts never brought in the big bucks but it might do, at least get them out of the hole they were in. Plus he played just as well with either hand. His shift didn't start until five, so he could hit that place down the road this afternoon. Before or after he picked up Sam?

With a grimace, Dean realized it would have to be before. Sam was dead-set against him hustling at the moment. Like that was the only reason he had been in a fight. Yeah, okay, it had been a contributing factor, but Dean had the feeling that even if he had beaten them in a straight up game they would have been laying in wait for him. Those assholes just seemed the type. They also seemed the type not to take having the crap beat out of them lying down, and he had the distinct feeling they were being watched. The car which took off the other night when he spotted it hadn't exactly left him with the warm fuzzies either.

Dean let his right arm hang limp while he showered, doing as much one handed as he could. When he was finished, Dean patted his busted shoulder dry before drying as much of himself off as he could. The rest would dry eventually, he really didn't care. When his hand rested on the doorknob, Dean realized Sam was already showered and dressed. Oh, crap. That meant his little brother would be able to watch him dress.

Okay, he had about ten bucks in his wallet and that was all the cash they had in the world until he got his paycheck. Shit. He might not be able to raise any money with darts either. Sam ate about six dollars worth of breakfast every morning at the diner. It was too bad Sam's school didn't offer breakfast like some other public schools did, it would save him a truckload of money. Well, maybe if he sent Sam out to buy a box of donuts, five dollars' worth ought to feed the both of them and it would still leave him five bucks to bet later. He'd have to win, obviously, but it was something. Plus, it would get rid of Sam long enough for him to dress.

Oh, damn, this was all assuming no one was waiting outside to get the jump on Sam. Well, why the hell would they? They were after him, not Sam. Yeah, Sam should be fine. And the reason he was insisting Sam come with him to work tonight was because he missed his giant pain in the ass brother?

"Dean?" Sam's voice called out. "Are you all right?"

Dean yanked the door open. "And why wouldn't I be?" he demanded, holding his towel around his waist with one hand. "Dude, grab my wallet. There's a couple of fives in there. Take one and walk to the convenience store. We can have donuts for breakfast this morning."

Sam shrugged as he headed for Dean's wallet. He removed both fives and held them up. "Where's the rest?" he asked.

"The rest of what?" Dean twisted the towel so it would stay without him holding it. He opened one of the dresser drawers to find some underwear.

"The money!" Sam turned his wallet upside down and shook it. "All you have is ten dollars?"

"I told you," Dean said with a growl, "I get paid tomorrow. It's enough for breakfast today and tomorrow. We'll eat at Billy's tonight and tomorrow. No problem." And if he won some money this afternoon? "Besides, I keep some emergency funds in the Impala."

Sam sighed in relief as his hands dropped down to his sides. "Oh. Really? Where?"

"Huh?" Dean located a semi-clean t-shirt and an over shirt which didn't stink. Did it? He sniffed at the armpits.

"The emergency funds. Where in the car are they?" Sam asked.

"Where are they?" Dean repeated, stalling for time. "Uh, safe." He jerked his head at the door. "Better get going or we won't have time to eat."

"Safe, huh?" Sam frowned as he tucked the other five back in Dean's wallet. "Back in a minute."

"Hey!" Dean spun around as Sam opened the door. "Uh, hold on." He pulled one of his handguns out of his underwear drawer to toss to Sam. Sam gave him a strange look as he caught it. "Just in case. It's a long walk to the store."

Sam closed the door slowly. "Dean. The store is fifty feet away. Are you worried about something?"

"Nah. Go." Dean waved at the door. "But take the gun."

Sam set the handgun down carefully on the dresser. "No. If you're so worried, you can come with me." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Or I can leave now. Without the gun."

Dean glared at his brother. Damn it! He turned away so he could grit his teeth while he pulled on his t-shirt. The flare of pain was so bad it took his breath away. He rested against the dresser until he could breathe again before attempting to pull on his over shirt. But when he reached for it, it wasn't there. Sam stood behind him holding it. Dean scowled at his brother, but he let Sam help with the stupid shirt.

"I don't need any help," he growled.

"Yeah, I know," Sam said softly as he pulled the shirt up Dean's arm on the damaged side. "I don't suppose I can talk you into taking a pain pill."

"No," Dean snapped, fully irritated he was this easy to see through. "If I take two I'm too loopy to drive."

He shrugged into the other sleeve before reaching for his underwear. "And I don't need an audience!"

"I'm facing the door," Sam said in his oh-so-calm voice, which Dean hated. That voice usually meant Sam was just placating him. Smarmy bastard. If they were in some movie where giant bees or ants were invading, Sam would be the hero scientist out to save the day and Dean would be the soldier dude who dies saving the scientist because the scientist can save the world. Yeah, that was a cheerful thought.

"So you already took one? This morning?" Sam asked.

Dean shot a glare at his brother's back. "Yes, mother," he replied in as sarcastic a voice as he could muster. His underwear was not cooperating; it kept sticking to the wet spots on his thighs. Well, if the underwear was being this stubborn, what were the jeans going to be like?

"Wow. It must really hurt then."

"What?" Dean asked, distracted by the underwear refusing to pull over his right hip. Stupid, stubborn, fruity thing. This was the last frigging time he bought underwear advertised by freaking fruit! He should've known better.

"I said," Sam said in a louder voice, "it must really hurt. Your shoulder."

Finally! Dean snagged his jeans before sitting on the edge of his bed. He pulled them up both legs while sitting down. When he stood, Dean was able to yank them up over his hips in a single movement, which hurt like a sonuvabitch. But at least it was fast. He took several deep breaths to push past the pain before zipping up and doing the button. Now he wouldn't have to do that again until he needed to use the bathroom. Great. When he looked at Sam again, his brother still had his back to Dean but he held out the stupid sling. With a groan Dean took it from Sam's outstretched hand. He put it on and rested his arm in it. With the weight off, his shoulder instantly felt better, not that he could admit it. Oh, no. Dean would rather do a hundred push-ups first. Okay, maybe not a hundred. Fifty. Or twenty. Yeah, at least ten.

"Ready," Dean mumbled as he picked up his handgun. He tucked it in his waistband under his over shirt.

"So I see," Sam replied. "Do you want to tell me what you're so worried about now?"

"Nope." Dean opened the door and jerked his head at his brother, wanting to get this freaking show on the road.

The parking lot looked clear, nothing suspicious. He noticed Sam checking his watch as they walked over to the convenience store together. "How're we doing on time?"

"Fine," Sam replied airily. "I was figuring out how long before the pain pill starts working."

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. "What? You expect something dramatic to happen?"

Sam glanced at his watch again. "Ask me in five to ten minutes."

"Whatever," he muttered. Fortunately they had arrived at the store, saving Dean from this freaking conversation. He marched straight over to the baked goods, which claimed to be baked fresh daily. Interesting, considering there was no kitchen in this place. Dean grabbed a box of glazed donuts and checked the price. Good, they might have enough for Sam to buy some juice and Dean a cup of coffee.

"Sam, go pick out some juice," Dean ordered.

"Uh, that's all right," Sam said. "I can drink water."

Dean turned to glare at his brother. "You like juice. Go get some."

"No, Dean. Really. It's fine," Sam protested.

Dean rolled his eyes as he headed for the refrigerated section on the back wall. The orange juice was on sale two for one, so Dean grabbed two. He plopped them down on the counter next to the box of donuts.

"What's the damage?" he asked.

The cashier totaled it up. "Four-ninety," the guy told him. Damn. So much for his coffee. Dean handed over a five. Well, at least he could have some frigging juice. This was not his day.

He opened up one of the orange juice bottles before motioning to Sam to carry the rest. Sam looked like he had something to say about it, but he kept his big mouth shut. Now that was a frigging miracle right there. That, and his shoulder was starting to feel a little better. About damn time, too.

"We should have time to eat before you drive me to school," Sam informed him as they walked back to their room.

"Yeah, I figured," Dean replied. "Got all your homework done?"

"Huh? Uh, I mean, yeah. Yeah I did," Sam said, his head bobbing. "I finished my paper this morning."

"Is that why you were up so frigging early?" Dean chuckled at his little brother. "Dude, you won't get up for Dad, but you'll do homework?"

Sam's entire head rolled when he rolled his eyes. "Dad wants us doing drills. Homework is important, Dean."

"So are drills," Dean argued. "It's to keep you alive, Sammy."

"Sam," his brother snapped. "Yeah, whatever, Dean. I don't want to argue this morning."

"Fine," Dean replied with a shrug. He drank a slug of juice as they walked through the parking lot. "So when do I get to read your paper?"

Sam glanced at him. "That's it?" A grin spread across Sam's face. "No lecture about the importance of drills and practice? Now that's what I call dramatic."

Dean rolled his eyes, his shoulders feeling looser and the pain ebbing away. "Oh, right. You're avoiding the question. You don't want me to read it, do you?"

Well, that figured. Sam wouldn't want Dean to see how he stacked up against Dad. Dean wasn't sure why he would want to see it, to see how pathetic he was by comparison.

"Forget it," Dean said quickly as Sam's mouth opened. "I don't need to see it."

Sam frowned at him. "I want my teacher to grade it first," he said slowly, no doubt because he thought Dean was a little slow. "Then I can make the corrections before I show it to you."

"Uh-huh." Dean shrugged, his eyes scanning the area around them again. "Sure, Sam."

* * *

Sam could not believe they were having this conversation. Was Dean serious? Did he really think Sam wouldn't want him to read his paper? Well, okay, so the conclusion was a little embarrassing, but Sam wanted his big brother to know a few things about their family that he had learned with this assignment. Mainly, the fact that Sam saw it wasn't all bad. He would have to make a point of giving Dean a nice copy of his paper. Dean might doubt what Sam thought of him right now, but after reading the paper he wouldn't.

* * *

Justin glared at Winchester's stupid head during English. He would bet good money the creep had written his stupid assignment about that loser brother with the car. No wonder CPS was investigating them. According to the nerd girl in the front office, Winchester's loser brother even had custody, which meant it was genetic. Their parents were losers, too.

What would it take to get his hands on Winchester's paper? There might be some good dirt in there he could use. Maybe turn it in to CPS, with a few revisions of his own. Well, it would have to wait until the teacher passed them back. Justin wasn't stupid enough to cross his English teacher after starting a fight during class. He couldn't believe he had got away with that, so he wasn't about to push his luck. Besides, after the game tonight, Winchester was all his.


	15. Ch 15:Darts, Bowling and Plans

**Chapter 15: Darts, Bowling and Plans**

Grant sipped his beer as he waited for his friend Jonesy to get off work. Man, he loved having half a day off every Friday. Sure, having the whole day off every other week would be better, but he wasn't complaining. He watched each person who came through the front door, just in case Jonsey had sneaked out early. Not likely, but Grant could hope.

A young man, early to mid twenties, wearing a beaten brown leather jacket, strode into the bar. Was it? Grant's beer froze in midair as he watched Dean Winchester head for the dart boards. His right arm was in a sling, and Grant noticed a few of the guys who had been playing darts for the past hour grin at each other as Winchester approached. Things did not look good for the older brother.

Grant considered the possibilities. Those guys clearly played for money, so they would undoubtedly see Winchester as an easy mark. There were two ways this could go. One: Winchester would lose, and Grant would put even money on the fact those boys couldn't afford any monetary loss, no matter how small. Two: Winchester would win, and there would be a fight. Actually, with this particular group, a fight was pretty likely either way.

"Winchester!" Grant shouted, his mind made up as he stood. The young man spun around, startled. "I thought you weren't going to make it." He waved at the far dart board. "That one's open. Be right there."

The older brother gave him a strange look, but he nodded before heading for the far board. By the time Grant arrived, Dean had the darts gathered in his good hand. He offered them to Grant. Grant took the red ones.

"Following me?" the young man asked quizzically.

Grant smiled at him. "I was here first, I should be asking you that."

Winchester shrugged as he motioned to the dart board. "Go ahead," he offered.

Grant had played a lot of darts back in his college days, but that had been a while ago and his first throw showed just how out of practice he was.

"Killing time before work tonight?" Grant asked conversationally.

Dean gave him a hard look. "On or off the record?"

Grant grinned as he held up his beer. "I'm off. Just like you."

Dean rolled his head before taking his first throw. In three throws he closed out two numbers. Impressive.

"Killing time," Dean said before retrieving the darts from the board. He handed over Grant's darts when he returned.

"That's good," Grant remarked, lining up his shot. "Because if you were out looking to pick up some extra cash on, say, betting on a darts game, that busted wing of yours would make you look pretty vulnerable." It took all three throws, but he managed to close out one number. Grant turned to make eye contact before Dean threw. "Not to mention," he said in a lower voice, "they'd know exactly where you were vulnerable."

Dean's face blanked, the lack of reaction telling Grant all he needed to know. Dean had planned on making a little extra cash.

"Tell you what," Grant said, pointing at the board with his beer, "if you thoroughly kick my ass this game, I'll buy you a beer and pay for a darts lesson."

The young man, looking much more like a kid with his face reflecting his utter disbelief at Grant's offer, stared at him for a long moment. "Excuse me?"

"Fine," Grant sighed as though he had just given in on a crucial point of negotiation, "I'll buy the beer now." He waved two fingers at the bartender.

Dean stood off to the side, still watching him apprehensively when the beers arrived. The kid didn't turn his down, however. After taking a long sip, Dean locked gaze with Grant.

"What are you doing?" he asked. There was no anger in the question, but plenty of suspicion. Grant knew the Winchesters had been investigated numerous times before, so Dean had plenty of reason to be suspicious.

Grant shrugged as he straddled a bar stool. "What? I can't ask and pay for darts lessons?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, but he still did not appear angry. "When you're investigating me and my brother? I don't think so."

"Great," Grant replied readily. "So the lesson's free, huh?"

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. "Dude, you got balls made for bowling. You know that?"

Grant grinned as he lifted his beer in salute. "Takes one to know one, my friend."

"No idea what you're talking about," Dean replied lightly, lining up to make a throw. This time Dean closed out three numbers with three throws. The kid was definitely a shark.

Grant retrieved the darts this time. He held out the other three to Dean before casting a glance over at the semi-regulars. "Those characters tend to get into a fight whether they win or lose," he informed Dean.

"Personal observation, or is it work related?" he asked in a hard-edged voice.

Grant made a fairly decent throw. He managed to close out another number. "Personal," he said, turning it over to Dean. "I come here every Friday."

"Good to know," Dean replied, clearly indicating he would avoid this place on Fridays.

"So, on average, how often do you and your brother move?" Grant asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Dean looked him right in the eye as he replied, "More often than CPS investigates us."

Grant shook his head. "No, no. Nothing like that." He shrugged. "Just curious. I figure you live out of motels because they're furnished and fairly cheap, right? Moving around so much, you wouldn't have the luxury of a lot of furniture, so you have to make do wherever you stop."

Dean's next throw went wide, missing the board. He wasn't even trying to get to the kid.

"It's really amazing how Sam manages to keep up his grades," Grant said. "I figure he must get a lot of support from you or your father."

The next throw hit the board, but in a number Dean had already closed out so it didn't count. Dean's jaw clenched as he took aim again. This time with one throw he closed out another number. Before they started Grant would have attributed it to luck, but now he was pretty sure it was pure skill.

Dean motioned that it was Grant's turn.

"I also figure," Grant continued conversationally, "that if Sam's as smart as he appears..."

He glanced over at Dean. "He is, isn't he?"

The stern look fell briefly from Dean's face. "Better believe it."

"Okay, so if Sam's that smart, then the rest of you must not be slouches in the brains department either." Grant sent a dark flying at the board. Well, at least it hit a number he needed. "And that custody paperwork, wow, now that is a thing of beauty."

His eyes flicked over to see Dean's reaction. His face was still stern, but he seemed to be listening.

"It also wasn't written by an attorney," Grant continued. "It's airtight, don't get me wrong. Your father couldn't even sue for custody, but it's written clearly without all the legalese the attorneys pride themselves on using." His last dart hit a number he still needed to close out, so that was good.

He turned to face Dean. "You wrote it, didn't you? It's nice work. Ever considered law school?"

Dean shook his head as he headed for the dart board. He tallied their points before removing the darts from the board.

"Got any more of the stuff you've been smoking? You should share, you know," Dean said, pointing a dart at him.

Grant smiled. "You're used to people underestimating you because of the way you dress, right? I'm willing to bet you're just as smart as your brother, which is why you're not under investigation."

Dean frowned at him. "We're not? Then what was that interview at the school about?"

"I was determining whether or not to open a case," Grant told him. "If I had, you would have been informed. I do think there's something going on with Sam, though." He chewed his lower lip. "I suspect he's getting into more fights at school than he tells you about."

"Oh, really?" Dean asked. Grant couldn't tell if the young man was serious and worried, or humoring him.

"Yes, really," Grant replied in earnest. "Those bruises are very concerning. Abuse happens outside the home as well, Dean. I'm afraid that may be the kind Sam is suffering. If you like, I can open a formal investigation so I can interview all of Sam's classmates and possibly track down the real assailant." He found himself hoping for the older brother to give him permission.

Dean stared at him for a long moment, his brow creased, no doubt in worry.

"Uh, actually," Dean said when he finally spoke, "I think I can handle it. Uh... Thanks." His eyes were kind of wide.

Grant sighed as he nodded. "I understand," he said. "And I don't blame you for it." He shook his head. "I just hate seeing good kids abused. It's the reason I chose this career, so I could do something about it."

Dean nodded slowly. "Right. I get it." He checked his watch. "Uh, you know, school is going to be letting out soon."

"Oh, right." Grant mentally kicked himself. "You better go pick up your brother. Sorry if I kept you." He smiled. "Listen, I really am here every Friday afternoon, and I'm a good listener."

"Right." Dean flashed a bright grin. "I'll keep that in mind. Later." He held out the darts to Grant.

Grant took them and watched Dean rush out, no doubt in a hurry to pick up his younger brother. God, why couldn't all parents be more like him? That guy clearly cared deeply for his brother, enough to want custody of him. The part about Dean writing the custody paperwork had been a shot in the dark, but it had seemed to pay off. He wished he could run into more single parents like Dean. It just made him want to help those boys, in any way he could. Damn it. He forgot to pay for his darts lesson. Wait, maybe he still had the name of the place where Winchester worked in the car. Yeah. A ten dollar tip at work wouldn't be something he could turn down, now could it?

* * *

The moment his feet hit the outdoor pavement, Dean broke into a flat-out run for the car. Holy crap, he just spent an hour playing darts with CPS! He fumbled with the keys in his rush to open the door. As Dean dropped behind the wheel he wondered if maybe he should go ahead and call Dad, tell him they were freaking moving. He took a deep breath as the engine turned over. Maybe after he got his paycheck, Dean decided. They still needed money on the road and cash worked best.

He waited in the line out front of the school for Sam. His lanky little brother loped over to the car. Sam dropped down in the passenger seat and started looking immediately in the front, then the back, seat. Ah, crap. He forgot Sam's snack.

"We'll hit Billy's early," Dean suggested. "I'll get you something to eat there."

"That's all right," Sam told him. "If you want to stop at the motel, I can make a sandwich."

"Employees eat for free, Sam," Dean informed his brother. "That means you too."

"Oh, well, in that case, can I have two double cheeseburgers?" Sam asked.

Dean chuckled as he shook his head. "Yeah, sure. No problem." Dean pulled out into the mess of after school traffic. "Any homework this weekend?"

"Just a little math," Sam told him. "That plus my library book ought to keep me busy tonight."

Dean nodded. "What about tomorrow night?" he asked. "Think the one book will be enough?"

He could feel Sam's eyes boring into him. "Dean, what's going on? And don't tell me 'nothing', because I know it's something. You wouldn't even let me walk fifty feet to the store by myself this morning."

Having a freaking brilliant little brother could really be a pain in the ass. He could try to keep up the pretense, but Sam would have to know eventually. Sam wouldn't be as vigilant if he didn't know. When Sam thought everything was fine, he went off to la-la-Sam-land when he was doing his homework or reading, which was another reason Dean wanted Sam at Billy's tonight. He wanted to be able to keep an eye on his brother.

"Somebody's been following us," Dean admitted. "It might be the guys from the pool hall, I'm not sure."

Sam's heavy sigh was like a punch to the gut. Here came the lecture. Dean braced himself for it.

"Why aren't you sure if it's the same guys?" Sam asked.

Dean glanced over warily. "I told you, I didn't really get a good look at them."

"You had to when you took them at pool," Sam pointed out.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. At one of them. I swear, Sam, I had no idea the asshole had a bunch of friends there. He never talked to them or looked at them or anything. I wasn't looking at taking on three or four guys."

"Four, Dean." Sam held up four fingers. "It was four guys. There were witnesses."

Yeah. Lecture time. He knew it was coming.

Sam sighed heavily. "In that case, I want a seat where I can watch the door for you."

Dean nodded quickly. He waited, but the lecture wasn't coming. Glancing over, he saw Sam rummaging through his bag.

"What are you doing?" he asked before he could stop himself.

"I'm going to carry your spare piece in here and I want easy access," Sam told him. "So I'm, you know, getting things situated."

Dean sighed at Sam's efforts. "You could just wear it, Sam. Like I do."

Sam made a face. "You know I hate the feel of it against my spine."

Dean cleared his throat before his next uncomfortable admission. "It's probably not a good idea anyway."

Sam's head snapped to look at him. "Why?" he asked slowly.

Dean shrugged his good shoulder. "Because I might have run into that CPS guy earlier today."

"With the car?" Sam asked, and did goody-two-shoes sound excited about the idea? Nah, probably just his imagination.

"Nah." Dean forced a chuckle. "It was no big deal."

"So how did you run into him?" Sam asked.

Dean wished he had a free hand to scratch his jaw. There was also a nasty itch starting at the base of his neck. "Just had a beer with him. And maybe played a game of darts."

"Darts?" Sam demanded. "You went out hustling darts? After swearing you wouldn't?" Sam shook a finger at him. "God, you are such a jerk! You promised!"

He knew it was coming. Boom!

"I never promised not to hustle darts," Dean said pointedly. "And it doesn't matter, because I didn't hustle anything." He shot his little brother a hard glare. "I have exactly the same amount of cash on me that I did when I dropped you off at school."

"Oh yeah?" Sam challenged. "Then how did you pay for the beer?"

"I didn't," Dean stated firmly, hoping this sounded better out loud than in his head. "The CPS guy bought." He glanced over at Sam's wide eyes. "Believe me, it wasn't my idea."

Sam's head dropped back against the seat. "Holy crap."

"Exactly," Dean agreed. "So I've been thinking, maybe after I get paid tomorrow..."

"We hit the road?" Sam asked eagerly.

Dean gave his brother a suspicious look. "You almost sound like you like the idea, Sammy. Are you coming down with something?"

"Dean, this place sucks," Sam replied. "The sooner we leave, the better."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Then I'll call Dad tonight, on my break. See what we can set up."

Sam's sigh filled the car. "Thanks, Dean. Oh, uh, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Does this mean I'm carry your spare piece or not?"

Dean shook his head and restrained the string of profanities wanting to come out. "Not."

"Damn it."

Yeah. Dean agreed with that one.


	16. Ch 16:Meeting at Billy's

Sorry for the delay! But it's here. Next chapter - Action! Probably. (Actually, I haven't written it yet, so I'm guessing.)

**Chapter 16: Meeting at Billy's**

Justin was so excited that his heart was racing in his chest. They had had an amazing game; the coach was still praising their performance as they ran out the door.

He could do it again. All he had to do was picture Winchester's face on every player on the opposing team. It had been easy to take them down after that. Carl and Bud had demanded to know his secret during a half-time. He told them. In the second half the crowd had given the three of them a new nickname, The Wall.

They high-fived next to the car before piling in and heading for the flea-infested dump where Winchester lived. When Bud pulled up at the motel, Justin felt disgusted.

"It's worse than I thought," he muttered.

Carl nodded at the dump. "Man, almost makes you feel sorry for him, don't it?"

"But it doesn't excuse it," Bud snapped. "We take this creep down. Tonight."

Justin chuckled darkly. "Winchester's no match for The Wall."

Bud and Carl turned to face him. "The Wall!" They shouted together and Justin imagined it shook the whole car.

"Let's go," Justin ordered. "It's room fifteen."

Bud found an empty spot near the room. "So how do we do this?" he asked as he shut off the engine. "Just knock on the door?"

"The Wall doesn't knock," Justin declared loudly. "We knock in the door!"

"Yeah!" Carl shouted. "Let's do this!"

All fired up, they rushed from the car to the door of room fifteen. Justin and Carl stood close together, shoulders aimed at the door. Justin counted down.

"Three..."

This was going to be so sweet!

"Two..."

Winchester wouldn't even know what hit him.

"One!"

As the unit they were, Justin and Carl charged the door. They hit the wood together and heard it groan under their combined assault.

"Well, he probably knows we're here now," Bud said from his position leaning against the wall watching.

"We almost got it," Carl insisted. "One more time."

Justin nodded and backed up with his friend. They charged again, and this time the door burst open under the force of their blow. They stumbled into the empty room.

And it was empty. Totally empty. There wasn't even any furniture.

"What the hell?" Bud asked from behind them. He turned to glare at Justin. "Did you get the room number right?"

Justin scowled as he rubbed the top of his head. "I thought what's-her-name said fifteen."

Bud rolled his eyes as he walked away. "I'm going to check at the front office. Back in a few!"

Carl elbowed him in the side. "Hey man, at least now we know we can knock down a door! That's wicked!"

Justin couldn't help but chuckle. "Yeah, it is," he agreed.

They set the door back in the frame. Kind of. He was sure someone would notice in the morning, but if you didn't look real close, and since the door was kind of shadowed, it wasn't real obvious. They sat on the bumper of the car to wait. Bud sauntered back quicker than Justin thought he would.

"Fifty-one, you dyslexic moron!" he shouted at them. He waved an arm for them to follow. "Come on!"

"What's dyslexic?" Justin asked Carl as they jogged to catch up with their friend. Carl shrugged back. Well, it probably wasn't important then.

Fifty-one was on the backside of the motel. Well, that was good. There would be less chance of being spotted this way. Bud found the right door and pointed it out, then stood aside and motioned for him and Carl to do their thing.

Carl gave him this real broad grin. He was seriously getting off on this knocking in doors shit. Well, whatever, as long as they took down Winchester. Justin stood beside his friend again. This time Bud held up his fingers to count down for them.

On one, they charged the door. Since they'd already practiced, this door just popped open. Perfect!

Justin nearly lost his balance as they barreled into the room. He glared around at the two unmade beds and small pile of dirty laundry in the corner.

"Where is he?" Justin demanded. He spotted another door. Yanking it open, he found a small empty closet. The only other door was for the bathroom.

"Damn it!" he shouted. "He's supposed to be here!"

"Who is?" a calm man's voice interrupted Justin's impending fit.

"None of your business!" Carl snapped, standing between him and the guy at the door.

Justin leaned around his friend for a better look. Two men stood outside the door. One guy's face was just beat to hell, one side all purple and green. It turned Justin's stomach to look at it. The other guy had a black eye and held one arm against his side.

"Which brother are you after?" the man with the black eye asked in the same calm voice. "The younger one?"

"What's it to you?" Bud asked before Justin could think if he should answer the question.

The man with beaten face turned to look at Bud. "Because we want the older one. The kid is all yours, and I'm pretty sure we know where he is."

"Where?" Justin demanded. Maybe this night wouldn't be a bust after all.

* * *

Sam stood anxiously next to his big brother outside Billy's. Dean was on the phone, waiting for Dad to pick up.

"Yeah, it's me."

Come on, Dad, Sam chanted in his head. Make us move. He never thought he would see the day where he wanted this to happen.

"Nah, I don't think CPS is a problem." Dean made a face as he looked up at the night sky. "Uh, well, because I had a beer with the social worker this afternoon." Dean winced. He nodded his head at something Dad was saying. "Yes, sir. I know. I get it." Dean's eyes rolled all around. "Well actually, Dad, I was thinking we could leave this weekend. I get paid tomorrow."

Sam watched hopefully, trying to read Dad's answer on Dean's face.

Dean's eyes widened. "You're kidding," he said slowly. That particular tone of voice Sam did not like. It was The Tone of Disapproval, and it never failed to make him feel miserable. Sam had never heard Dean use it on Dad however. Never. He kept listening.

"Uh, no," Dean snapped in the same tone. Then there was another pause as Dean listened to whatever it was that Dad was saying.

"Why?" Now Dean was starting to sound angry. Sam took a step back. "Well maybe because I'm sick of hearing it, that's why." Dean waved for him to go back inside.

Sam looked around. Dean was in the open here, vulnerable, and distracted. He shook his head. Dean glared at him and Sam swept his arm out to indicate their position. Dean huffed a sigh as he looked skyward again.

"Yes, sir," he said in a tight voice. "As soon as we get back." His jaw clenched tight. Now what was that all about?

Dean nodded at the night sky. "Yeah, I'll check on that too. No problem, Dad." He sighed heavily as he stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

"I take it we're not moving?" Sam asked. "Why aren't we moving, Dean?" he whined.

Dean glared out over the road. "Dad says the set-up here is too sweet to pass up right now." Man, he really sounded pissed off. Maybe he needed one of those pain pills.

"I swear, Sam, if you tell me to take a pain pill I'm going to start swinging," Dean threatened.

"Dude, I didn't say a word," Sam protested. "What was that you have to check on?" Dean stared blankly at him. "You told Dad you'd check on that too. What are you checking on?"

A short growl came from Dean. "If there's a room around ours available." He made a nasty face. "They need to recuperate."

"They?" Sam asked, alarmed. "Who are they, Dean?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Dad and Caleb."

"Caleb?" Sam demanded. "Oh, God, how bad did it get them?"

"I'm guessing I'm supporting four people," Dean said in a heavy voice. "Well, that's just freaking awesome." He jerked his head at the restaurant. "Let's go back in before I get my ass fired."

"Dean!" Sam dogged as he followed his brother inside. "How bad?"

Dean shrugged. "Beats me!" he shouted over his shoulder as the noise from the large televisions and people talking and shouting inside Billy's rolled over them. "I didn't ask!"

Sam paused in following his big brother through the bar and grill. Dad was hurt and Dean didn't ask how bad? Why in the hell hadn't Dean asked? Sam hurried back to his seat in the far corner of the bar. Technically he wasn't supposed to be sitting in the bar area since he was underage, but since he wasn't at the bar itself the manager had said it was all right. And if they got busted for it Dean was fired. He turned to see if there were any good seats outside of the bar area when he felt a strong hand grasping his shoulder.

Dean stood right behind him, nodding at his empty seat. "Sit down!" he shouted over the loud crowd noises and game announcer.

Sam shook his head, leaning back to shout, "We can't risk you getting fired!"

Dean made a nasty face. He shoved Sam at the tiny one person table which absurdly had two chairs. Sam sat heavily. Once he was in place, Dean pulled his wallet out. He shuffled through some things in it before pulling something out. Dean leaned over to talk directly in Sam's ear.

"I was saving this for your birthday," he said. "But if it'll make you feel better..."

Sam took the small rectangular object from Dean's hand. It was a driver's license, with his name and picture on it, which declared he was twenty-one. Sam chuckled as he pulled out his wallet to stick it inside.

"Thanks!" he shouted up at his brother.

Dean favored him with a grin and a wink before going back to work. Sam split his attention between his book and the people coming and going through the front door, not that he knew exactly what he was looking for. However, when a hand waved in his face it still took him by surprise.

Sam leaned back to see who the hand belonged to. He followed it up to an arm with a fading tan which was connected to... Holy crap. It was the CPS dude. He flashed Sam a bright grin before turning around and jerking his head at his companion. Sam felt his stomach plummet right through the floor at the sight of his high school principal. Quickly he shoved the fake ID deeper in his pocket as he forced a smile on his face despite his mounting horror.

Both men smiled at him before walking around the waist-height wall separating the formal 'family' restaurant part from the bar. Sam had a really bad feeling as they waved and hurried towards him. The CPS guy grabbed an empty chair from another table as he passed and Principal Jones sat down in the one on the other side of Sam's tiny table. CPS dude dragged his chair over and straddled it on the open side of his table.

"Hey, Sam!" he shouted, waving the brown bottle Sam hadn't noticed before in one hand. "Your brother is working tonight, right?"

Sam nodded slowly. Honestly, the image of his principal and his case worker sitting around drinking beer together was, at the very least, disturbing.

Principal Jones motioned at the CPS dude. "Grant says he owes your brother for darts lessons and forgot to pay him."

Sam's brow furrowed as he studied the two men. "Darts lessons?" he asked, his gaze darting between them.

The CPS dude grinned and nodded before taking a swig of beer. "Learned a lot!" He set his beer down to pull out his wallet. After removing a ten dollar bill, he held it out to Sam. "Give that to Dean, will you?"

Sam eyed it suspiciously. Even if all they had in the world was five dollars, which Dean swore wasn't the case but Sam was pretty sure he was lying, Sam had no desire to take money from CPS. It felt too much like a set-up. He held up a hand and shook his head. Principal Jones grinned and mouthed 'told you' at Grant, the CPS dude.

The CPS dude rolled his eyes as he stuffed the ten in his shirt pocket. "I'll leave it as a tip!" he shouted back at Principal Jones.

Jones shrugged and tipped his beer back, his eyes still laughing at the CPS dude. Good grief, Dean was right! They were personal friends. Oh, crap, he was never going to live this down.

The CPS dude leaned closer to Sam. "This table does get service, right?" He motioned to Jones. "He owes me dinner!"

Sam just nodded. He was confident the instant Dean saw these two guys at his table, big brother would come right over. As if on cue, out of the corner of his eye Sam saw a figure moving towards him. He relaxed back against the hard wooden chair as Dean strode up to them. Sam felt his brother grip his shoulder as Dean leaned over him; the move was kind of possessive and for once Sam appreciated the gesture.

"Can I help you?" Dean shouted over the noise.

They had to wait as the patrons shouted over something which happened on the ballgame. Sam guessed it was a really bad call or foul or something the way the jeering and shouts carried on for over a full minute.

Principal Jones held up two fingers and shouted, "Burgers and beer!"

The CPS dude looked up. "No onion! Fries!"

Dean nodded at both of them, his hand squeezing Sam's shoulder gently. Sam looked back in his brother's eyes, which silently asked whether or not he wanted to stay. Sam shrugged and nodded, he could handle it. Dean's eyes went hard as he nodded and Sam knew his brother would be checking up on him every few minutes. Relieved, Sam twitched the shoulder Dean was holding in acknowledgement.

"Coming right up!" Dean shouted as he patted Sam's shoulder. These guys would probably think it was in commiseration, but Sam knew better. It was more of a 'better you than me' thing. It probably was better this way, too. Dean would undoubtedly start swinging if left here alone too long. Then again, the CPS dude didn't look much the worse for the wear, so maybe it was just Sam's turn.

Resigned to his fate, Sam leaned forward on the table. "So. You two come here often?"

The two men exchanged a startled look before chuckling at him, as if he had made the innuendo by accident. They wish.

* * *

Tim stood in front of the meat-head kids. "No, no," he chastised. "You can't just run in there and drag him out."

"But he's no match for..." The other two boys jumped in at this point. "The Wall!"

It took every ounce of willpower Tim had not to crack some teenaged skulls together. He forced a smile as he shook his head.

"What about witnesses, huh?" he demanded. "You boys really don't want to go to jail, now do you?"

One of the boys rolled his eyes. "Man, my dad is a judge! I ain't goin' to jail."

"A judge?" Douglas asked, his eyes widening. "Your father is a judge?"

Tim waved his friend off, concentrating on reigning in the kids. "All we have to do is wait until the place closes down, in about an hour. Winchester always has to clean up, and the place is nearly empty. We all go in, you take the kid brother and we'll take out the older one."

One of the boys eyed him critically. "What happened to you, anyway? I mean, you old guys look just beat to hell."

Tim smiled at the punk-ass kid. "If you think this is bad, you should see the biker gang we took out."

The wide eyes of the three boys was so worth it. If this worked, and Tim was counting pretty heavily on these kids to take down the kid brother, then Winchester was so going to pay. It should be easy with the kid brother down for the count and being held hostage so the smart-ass jerk would take his beating like a man. Why not let some dumb-ass meat-heads do his dirty work for him? Hitting a minor could be pretty damned serious, legally. But when minors went after each other? Ha. No sweat. He was going to enjoy this, the look on Winchester's face as he watched his sweet faced lil' brother get the ass-whooping of his life.

"Now, are you kids going to listen to the voice of experience or what?" Tim demanded.

The three boys exchanged a long look before nodding slowly at him. Tim beamed. He had a really good feeling about this. Really good.


	17. Ch 17:Fight!

Huge apologies for the delay! This chapter was fighting me so that seemed to be the appropriate title for it. I hope it makes up for the delay!

**Chapter 17: Fight!**

Grant was starting to like the younger brother as much as he respected the older one. He could see what a good job Dean was doing with him. The kid was self-confident and self-assured. Sam sat there conversing with a CPS social worker and his own high school principal as if this happened every day. Grant also noticed that Sam never offered them any new information, simply expounding on what they already knew, so the kid was just as sharp as his older brother claimed.

"Does your brother enjoy working here?" Jonesy asked.

A small smile played across Sam's face. "He likes meeting girls." He shrugged.

Grant cast a look around. Well, Dean would certainly meet a lot of girls his age around here, that was for sure. Almost as if the older brother were reading his thoughts, Grant spotted Dean flirting with a table full of young ladies on the other side of the bar. He slapped Jonesy in the arm and motioned across the way. When Grant looked back at their table, he found Sam grinning and rolling his eyes.

"I see what you mean," Grant said as Sam shook his head at his brother. Sam acted annoyed, but it was in a resigned, accepting kind of way.

"Three," Sam announced.

"Three what?" Jonesy asked.

"I say he goes home with three phone numbers," Sam motioned at the far table.

"How much?" Grant asked, pulling out his wallet. Maybe now he could make the kid take his money.

"Five bucks," Sam announced.

Grant laid down his ten. "I'm covering both of us," he explained, motioning between him and Jonesy.

Sam studied him for a moment. "You two must go back a ways."

Grant nodded and smiled. "Eighth grade," he confirmed. He gave his friend a shove in the upper arm. "You wouldn't believe some of the trouble we got into."

Sam smiled, perhaps the first real smile since they had imposed themselves on the teen.

"Hey!" Jonesy shoved him back. "Don't you dare! I still have to maintain discipline at work."

Grant chuckled at his friend. He gave Sam a helpless shrug as the teen picked up his soda. "Fine, all I'm going to say is four words: girls, shower, detention, year."

Sam choked on his drink as his eyes darted over to Jonesy. Jonesy growled and gave Grant a withering glare. Sam didn't even bother to cover his laughter, the smile reaching even his eyes. Suddenly Dean stood beside his brother, though how he could have been drawn there so quickly was beyond Grant.

Dean leaned down so Sam could talk directly in his ear. His usually stern face split in a bright grin as his eyes snapped to Jonesy. Jonesy sat back with both arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm going to check on your order," Dean announced in a loud voice. His shoulders shook as he walked away, probably chuckling.

Dean brought out their food, balancing the tray using only one arm, including a burger for his brother though Sam hadn't ordered one. Grant didn't miss how Sam helped by taking the full plates off the tray. He could see what Dean meant about Sam's appetite now. Before he was halfway through his burger, Sam had inhaled his and was nearly finished with the fries on his plate. Without a word exchanged, Dean swept back by with a large shake. Sam grinned up at his brother and Dean nodded in reply as he whisked away Sam's dirty dishes. It was also impressive how Dean managed to do his job one-handed and make it look effortless.

When the game finally ended, the noise inside Billy's died down to a point which allowed normal conversation. Grant handed over an extra ten with the payment of the check. Jonesy had pointed out that Sam's meal had not been included in their bill.

"We were planning on paying for Sam's too," Jonesy said as he handed over the money.

Dean shook his head, eyes hard. "Nah. No need."

Grant noticed Dean pocketed the tip, though. Relieved that he had finally managed to make Dean take his money, he was about to head out when Sam called his brother back.

"Dean? How many phone numbers did you get tonight?" Sam asked.

Dean appeared startled for a moment, staring at his brother. Then he shrugged as he headed back to the table. "Let me check."

Grant shot Jonesy a knowing look, like the kid didn't know! Dean wanted to show off. The older brother pulled two papers with numbers out of his wallet. He rummaged around a little more, though Grant doubted there could be that much in there, until he found a third one.

"Three," Dean announced. "Not bad, eh, Sammy?"

"It's Sam," the younger brother insisted. He held out a hand to Grant. "You owe me ten bucks."

Dean frowned at him. "Sam? You had a bet with a social worker?"

"Yeah," Sam replied casually, "and he lost. Time to pay up."

"You had a bet on how many phone numbers I'd get?" Dean sounded astounded.

Sam ignored his older brother, fingers motioning for Grant to fill his empty palm. Damn. He hadn't planned on handing over twenty bucks, even though it was probably for a good cause. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Grant pulled two fives out of his wallet and handed them over. Sam gave him a bright grin as he pocketed the money.

"Dean?" Sam said as he stood. "I'm buying breakfast."

"Sit back down, Sam," Dean chided. "I gotta close. We'll be here for a while. Still have your book?"

Sam nodded as he brought out a heavy hardback library book.

"We can keep Sam company," Grant offered. "No work tomorrow. Right, Jonesy?"

Jonesy shot him a strong glare. "Actually, I have things to do, and I'm sure poor Sam is sick of hanging out with his principal."

Grant shrugged as he stood. "Okay, fine. Just trying to be helpful."

He felt his friend's hand on his back all the way out the door. When it shifted to his shoulder and squeezed, Grant looked for the source of Jonesy's concern. Three large teenaged boys lounged around near the front entrance, though it was clear Billy's was closing for the night.

"Jocks," Jonesy grunted. "All trouble-makers too." His eyes darted between the boys and the front doors. "I have a bad feeling."

Grant nodded slowly in agreement. "I offered to wait inside. Want to go impose ourselves again?"

"Nah," Jonesy said slowly. "We can go out to the parking lot and watch from there. If they go inside, we'll come back."

"With the kind of moves those brothers have, I'm shocked they didn't bring more people," Grant remarked as they picked their way through the emptying parking lot.

Jonesy shrugged. "I said they were jocks, not honor students."

Ah. Good point.

–

Sam let out a breath of relief. "God, I thought they'd never leave!"

Dean chuckled, his good hand out. "Dude, you owe me five."

"What for?" Sam demanded.

"For winning that bet for you," Dean snapped. "You bet three numbers, so I found three numbers."

Sam grumbled under his breath as he pulled his wallet back out. He handed over a five, but refused to release it when Dean made a grab for the cash. "How many numbers did you get? You know, just for my curiosity."

Dean beamed at him. "Five. It was a good night."

Sam rolled his eyes as he released the money. "Forget what I said about breakfast, then. All I have is five bucks."

Dean shrugged as he stuffed the money in his pocket. "So go buy yourself something pretty."

Sam huffed as he grabbed his book. "Jerk."

There was a light chuckle before Dean responded with "Bitch" and a gentle slap to the side of his head before walking away. Sam kept half his attention on his book and half on his brother attempting to help clean the place after hours. Soon he couldn't stand watching Dean trying to sweep the floors with one arm.

Shaking his head at the fact Dean could never ask for help, with anything, Sam headed over to take the broom out of his brother's hands. Dean stood aside for a moment, watching him sweep with a confused look on his face. Then his brother shrugged as he started wiping down the tables.

Sam heard a door open and close from the back of the restaurant. "Dean?" He turned to face the noise.

"Kitchen staff," Dean replied, his attention not lifting from the table he was cleaning. "Probably throwing out the trash."

Sam nodded, mainly to himself, and resumed sweeping. He heard the door again, then nothing. When he glanced over to check on his brother, Dean was staring at the doors which led to the kitchen with a frown.

Still holding the broom, Sam moved closer to his big brother. He could literally feel the tension radiating off Dean. Using his good arm, Dean pulled his sling off and Sam really didn't care. If he had to be honest, he was relieved.

"You can narc if you want to," Dean muttered in a low voice.

Sam shook his head as the doors to the kitchen swung open, admitting three rather large men who looked like they had just come from a fight. Dean exchanged a surprised look with him.

"We're closed," Dean called out in a firm voice. "Or didn't you notice the locked front door?"

"We noticed," one of the men said. He motioned to the guy on his right, who limped around the bar towards the front door.

An elbow in his ribs told Sam to keep an eye on the limping dude. He watched, tension spreading from his neck across his shoulders. Limping Dude unlocked and opened the front doors. When no one walked through, he leaned out.

"Hey! We're ready!"

–

Damien saw the jocks head for the open front door. He really didn't like the looks of this. "Come on," he told Grant. "I've been itching to get those three morons in detention."

Grant matched his pace back to Billy's. The front door was still unlocked when they tried it. Really bad sign. Damien pushed it open slowly.

The Winchester brothers stood in the middle of the central bar area, surrounded on one side by three large men and on the other by three large teenagers.

"Three to one," Grant whispered in his ear. "Doesn't look fair."

Damien nodded in agreement, wondering how they could help. "Think we have enough time to call the police?"

"Doubt it," Grant replied. "Look."

Dean's sling was gone and he looked torn, as if he couldn't decide which side of his younger brother he wanted to stand on. Then Sam bumped his shoulder and turned to face the boys. The brothers stood back-to-back, waiting for the other six to make their move.

Damien was ready to call off the jocks at least, as their principal he should have some authority even off-campus. He strode forward, clearing his throat for attention, when two of the teen boys charged at Sam. Sam was knocked down, but he did not stay down. Dean pulled him up with one arm while dodging a blow from one of the men after him. Then Grant passed him, rushing right into the middle of things, as usual.

Damn it!

Damien charged for the teens. Every one of them had at least twenty pounds on him, he didn't have the physique he'd had in college, but he wasn't a complete wuss either. Damien tackled one of the boys to the floor. The teen flipped over to face him and Damien managed to pin his arms down.

"Principal Jones?" the boy asked, his voice high and squeaky and his eyes wide.

"Justin Reynolds," Damien growled. "Do you know what the phrase 'detention for life' means?"

Justin grimaced as his eyes squeezed shut. "I hate my life."

"Not yet," Damien promised, "but you will. Now get your ass outside and wait by the front door!"

Justin nodded, though Damien was sure the boy was lying to him. He stood up anyway and moved out of the way as Justin bolted. One of the other boys, he thought it might be Carl Green, shouted after Justin until his gaze fell on their principal.

"Shit!" the boy shouted before making himself scarce. Okay, that made two down.

The third boy was on the receiving end of a nasty right cross from Sam Winchester. He went down and didn't move. Three down. Then Sam turned his attention to the men after his brother. Dean had been holding his own, using some damned fancy moves that had Damien believing the bullshit story about being some kind of runner-up for mid-states junior champion of something. His friend Grant was facing off with one of the men, a big guy with a limp.

Damien moved to back Grant up. The brothers seemed to be holding their own. He had no idea how to alert Grant to his presence without distracting his friend. Feeling like some kind of useless third wheel, Damien looked around for anything he could do to help. He heard a roar of pain, which snapped his attention back to the Winchesters.

Dean was on one knee, his left hand holding his right shoulder and face twisted in pain.

"You bastard!" Sam shouted. In a whirl of legs and fists, the man who hurt Dean went down.

"Sam!" Dean shouted as he rocketed from his kneeling position. Dean lunged into the third man, who had been heading for Sam, catching him in the stomach with the good shoulder. They slammed into the short wall separating the bar area from the rest of the place, the third man's face registering his shock. Dean pulled back just enough to pummel the man with both fists.

Sam checked on the two combatants unconscious on the floor before heading over to where Grant faced the limper. Then it occurred to Damien that maybe he should call the police instead of standing here like a useless moron. He raced behind the bar, hoping to find a phone. Spotting it on the far end, Damien kept one eye on the fight while dialing. Damn it! Where was the eleven button? Oh, wait, one-one. Yeah, he knew that.

He almost laughed when Sam shoved Grant aside and made taking the limper down look effortless. Then the emergency operator came on the line and Damien was able to report the attack. By the time he hung up, he could hear sirens in the distance.

"Dean!" Sam frowned at his brother who was still whaling on the man who had tried going after Sam. Sam wrapped an arm around Dean from behind, careful to avoid his right shoulder Damien noticed, and pulled him away.

Dean's face was flushed with red and his eyes narrowed with fury. Sam moved around to stand in front of his brother. "Dean? I'm all right. Okay?"

After a few deep breaths, Dean reached for Sam's face. He tilted his younger brother's head into the light. "You need ice. Wait here and keep an eye on these losers."

Panting, Grant came up to the bar. "You call?"

Damien nodded. "I think those sirens are for us."

"Good." Grant shook his head. "Tell me those kids are yours, Jonesy, so I can nail 'em."

Damien nodded. "I recognized Justin Reynolds, and if he's not waiting out front he's going to be scrubbing the school lockers with a toothbrush. The kid who ran out I think was Carl Green. I haven't checked that one out yet." He motioned to the kid still out cold.

"Bud Williams," Sam told them. "And if he knows what's good for him, he'll keep pretending to be unconscious until Dean leaves." Sam said the last part louder and directed at the boy on the floor. Damien noticed the kid shifted a little, but his eyes never opened.

"Looks like you're going to have a few nasty bruises," Grant told Sam, motioning to the left side of his face.

"Crap," Sam breathed out, rolling his eyes. "Like my teachers aren't nosy enough."

"I'll talk to them," Damien promised. "No one will ask you anything on Monday. Well, none of your teachers."

Sam stared at him for a long moment. "Thanks," he said slowly as a puzzled expression crossed his face.

"What's wrong?" Damien asked with a grin. "Never had your principal on your side before?"

"Nope." Dean's strong voice boomed out from behind them. He held two white bar towels that clinked. Dean held one out to Sam. "Use it on your cheekbone, near your left eye," he instructed.

Sam nodded, gingerly pressing it to his face. Dean took the other one and winced as he pressed it against his right collarbone.

"Do we need to get that checked out again?" Sam asked.

Dean made a nasty face and Sam shrugged in response. They exchanged a few more looks that Damien had no hope of following. The sirens were right outside now, the police cars were so close the lights flashed through the windows, bathing the restaurant in alternating waves of white and red. Dean's body stiffened as he glared at the door and Sam moved to stand beside his brother.

"I'll take care of this part," Damien offered. He walked outside to talk to the arriving officers.


	18. Ch 18:The Other Kind of Battle

**Chapter 18: The Other Kind of Battle**

It had been a battle, but Sam finally climbed sullenly into the passenger seat. Dean breathed a sigh of relief as he slid in behind the wheel. His sling back on, at Sam's insistence, he had to reach around with his left hand to start his baby and shift her into reverse.

"You should've let the paramedics check you out," Sam said in a low voice.

Dean rolled his eyes as he shifted into drive. He took off slowly, too tired to even annoy his brother with reckless driving. "Sam, I'm fine. Why won't you let it go?"

Sam turned in the passenger seat to face him. "Because you're not fine, Dean. I saw the way you went down and I want to be sure that bastard didn't cause more damage!"

"We can't afford it!" Dean shouted back, slamming on the brake before he accidentally ran a red light.

Sam rocketed forward into the dash.

"Shit! Sam!" Dean fumbled with the shifter, trying to put the car into park.

Sam pushed off the dash. "I'm fine," he said in a tight tone, rubbing at his forehead. "Just drive."

A car horn sounded from behind them, bright headlights flooding the car through the rear windshield. Dean flipped off the other car before reaching for the gear shift again.

"Don't." Sam batted his hand away. "Drive."

Dean scowled; he would have preferred to check out Sam's head right frigging now, but he drove on to the motel. When he pulled up outside their room, Dean noticed the door was open and the light on.

"Now what?" he demanded as he threw his car into park. "I paid the damn rent!"

Sam beat him to the room. When Dean walked in he noticed the broken door catch and Sam going through all the dresser drawers.

"Anything missing?" he demanded.

Sam shrugged, pulling out another drawer. "Not sure yet."

"Guess they came looking here first, huh?" Dean sighed, shaking his head. "I'm going to the office, get a new room." He snapped his fingers as he remembered the call from Dad. "Make that two rooms."

* * *

Sam waved his brother off, searching through the drawers trying to remember what they had been keeping in the room.

"And if they try to charge me for any damage, I'll shove somebody's head through the mail slot," Dean's voice rang out in the night as he walked away from the room.

It took a moment for the words to register. Sam's head snapped up to protest, but Dean was gone. Crap. Oh, well. Hopefully whoever was unfortunate enough to be working the night shift wasn't stupid enough to cross Dean, not in the mood his brother had to be in. Hell of night.

Sam returned to going through their stuff and packing his and Dean's duffels in anticipation of moving into a new room.

* * *

John was in a deep sleep when an annoying ringing noise pulled him to wakefulness. It stopped and he relaxed, drifting back to sleep. The annoying ringing started again.

"John!" Caleb snapped from across the room. "Answer your damn phone!"

Oh. That's what it was. John fumbled around on the bedside table until his fingers closed around his ringing phone. He flipped it open, his sleep-bleary eyes too tired to read the display.

"This better be good," he snapped at whoever was calling at this god-awful hour.

"I got your damn room," Dean's voice blared through the phone at him.

Oh, crap. John sat up, hissing through his teeth as pain lanced across his back. "Dean? I thought I told you to take your pain pills when you got off work."

"I will if they're still there," his son snapped testily.

"Why wouldn't they be there?" John was almost afraid to ask. He rested his head in the palm of his hand.

The table lamp on the Caleb's side of the room flicked on. "Problem?" he asked.

John waved him off; he could only deal with one person at a time right now.

"Because our room was broken into," Dean said. "The moron in the front office wanted to charge me for damages, but I managed to convince him it would be a bad idea."

John sighed, having a fair idea of what Dean's persuasion tactics might entail. "The poor guy doesn't need an ER now, does he?"

He heard Dean growl, actually growl, at him. Holy crap, Dean was in a foul mood! He was really going to have to watch his mouth when he and Caleb arrived, especially around Sam. Maybe if he could avoid any arguments with Sam for at least a week, it would put Dean in a better mood. After missing his oldest son's birthday, doing what he could to put him in a better mood was the least he could try to do.

"Not that he doesn't deserve a beating," John added, wondering if it was in time to cool Dean's temper.

A dark chuckle came through the phone. "He does, but I didn't. A few well worded threats worked just fine. And they're going to have to replace the office phone."

John closed his eyes and shook his head. "Why? What happened to it?" He couldn't help the smile on his face.

"It's stuck inside the wall," Dean replied in a happier voice.

John chuckled, imagining his son in action. He wished he could score a ringside seat to a few more of those events.

"So when will you be here? I don't want to pay for a room you're not using," Dean said in his earlier, snappy tone.

"Tomorrow?" John asked. He didn't have the funds to stay here another night. The Wendigo had worked both him and Caleb over pretty damned good before they managed to trick it into a pit and set it on fire. Fortunately it had still been toying with them, stupid for a damn near perfect predator, but John supposed those things got their kicks from playing with their food. It wasn't like they could go to the movies or read a novel.

"Fine," Dean replied. Now he sounded resigned to his fate, having to look after them as well as Sammy.

"We'll stay out of your way, Dean," John promised.

He didn't miss the sigh over the phone. "It's fine, Dad. Just a long night, that's all. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Night, son."

"Night."

John sighed as he placed his phone back on the nightstand.

"Was that Dean?" Caleb asked. "Why was he calling so late?"

John yawned as he laid back down. "To let me know he had a room for us. He works the late shift on the weekends."

"Until four in the morning?" Caleb demanded.

John shot back up, the pain in his back be damned. "Four?" he repeated, making a grab for his phone. He flipped it open to check the time, forcing his eyes to focus. 4:18 am. John debated with himself on whether or not to call his son back. "He mentioned it had been a long night."

Caleb snorted as he clicked off the light. "Knowing that pain in the ass, he stopped to protect some poor leggy blond from supposed muggers in the parking lot."

John didn't bother to reply. Dean hadn't sounded like he had had a good time this evening; more like it had been extremely trying and he was doing his level best not to lose his temper. Great. That meant John would be walking on eggshells for days, and he really sucked at it.

* * *

Dean woke to the sounds of Sam reading. Unfortunately, that wasn't the strange part. The strange part was he didn't even find it unusual that he knew without opening his eyes, without a doubt, Sam was sitting on the next bed reading a large book. And Sam hadn't turned on the lamp.

"Gonna give yourself eye strain," he muttered.

The sound of a book slapping closed was followed by a rustle of fabric as Sam got off the other bed. Then Dean felt the side of his bed dip down as Sam sat by his legs.

"How're you feeling?" Sam demanded in his soft, careful voice. Oh, how Dean hated that tone. It was the tone Sam had when he had made up his mind things were going to be a certain way and nothing outside of a national disaster or nuclear explosion would be stopping bullet-train-Sammy.

Dean cracked open his eyes. He should've grabbed a bottle of something to go with his pain pills last night, maybe he'd be feeling better now. "Fine," he lied.

Sam's eyes rolled. "Yeah, right," he said slowly. "If I go get your pain pills, will you take them?"

Dean made a face, part of him wanting to refuse to admit he needed them, especially after the way Sam had embarrassingly come to his rescue last night, but his body overruled him. "Yeah."

Sam's eyebrows shot up behind his shaggy bangs. "I'll be right back." He watched Sam cross the room and dig through his duffel. "I know I put it in here last night," Sam mumbled. "Ah!"

Sam triumphantly held up the pill bottle as he came back to Dean. "Two," Sam insisted as he poured the large white pills in his palm.

Dean used his good arm to accept the pills, but he wasn't sure he would be able to take them flat on his back. Unfortunately, he was also in no condition to sit up by himself.

"Sam," he grunted, still holding out his left arm. When Sam gave him a confused look, Dean motioned with his hand. Slowly Sam reached out to pull him up to a sit.

The simple motion of sitting upright stole his breath, pain radiating from his collarbone throughout his chest. Holy crap, that hurt! His left hand flew to his right shoulder the instant Sam released him, checking to be certain the bone wasn't sticking through the skin. So basically it hurt like this for no freaking reason. Yeah, that was great.

When he could breathe again, Dean took the pills.

"You can't work tonight," Sam stated. Dean shot his little brother an aggravated look. "Dean, you can barely move. How are you going to be able to work?"

He swung his legs out of bed to sit on the side away from Sam. "I'll be fine by then." Dean heard Sam start to protest, so he cut his brother off quickly with, "There are too many people depending on me right now, Sam. Dad and Caleb will be here sometime today." He jerked his head at his wallet lying on the nightstand. "Grab some cash and go buy some breakfast, will ya?"

Sam's heavy sigh preceded the sounds of his little brother going through his wallet. "Damn, Dean. I thought we were broke? Did you get paid last night?"

"Nah," Dean breathed out. "Tips are better on the weekends." He groaned as he rolled his head, popping his neck. "Guess the stupid sling is good for something. Lot of pity money there."

Sam snorted as he pulled out some cash. "I guess you're planning on milking it, huh?"

"Couldn't hurt," Dean sighed. "Hurry up, I'm hungry."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam replied in an easy tone, not even coming close to pushing the envelope. Maybe the kid wasn't feeling well. He held up a ten dollar bill. "Back in five."

"I'm timing you," Dean called out as the door closed behind his brother. At least Sam was out of the room. Dean doubted he'd be able to shower this morning, so he decided to just change clothes and maybe swipe a few keys areas with a washcloth. But he needed to hurry. He didn't want Sammy catching him dodging his shower, that was a sure-fire way to get a trip to the ER which they couldn't afford.

* * *

Sam headed back to their room armed with a box of donuts, four bottles of juice, and a bag of peanut M&Ms. Dean was a grouch when he didn't feel well, especially if he were in a lot of pain. If last night was anything to go by he was probably feeling both, so the candy was kind of a peace offering. At least Dad would be here sometime today. Dad being home usually put Dean in a better mood.

Would anything at school on Monday actually change? Sam pondered the question as his sneakers made soft thumping sounds against the asphalt pavement. He had literally been in a bar fight, backed up by his high school principal, of all people, and a CPS social worker! Could they be fired for that? Man, he hoped they wouldn't be in any trouble just for helping him out. There were probably laws, or at least rules, about that sort of thing. Then, Sam reasoned, there should be laws the other way too, protecting people who protected others, like his dad and Dean, even if it meant breaking some minor laws in the process. What if there were, and people just didn't know about them?

Sam stopped in the open doorway of their old room, looking with disgust at the busted door. It had to have been those stupid jocks from school. If they had been watching him for a while, even they could have figured out Dean left every Friday night until late, leaving him here alone. It wasn't the guys after Dean, why would they have bothered? Maybe he needed to challenge Justin at school, where everyone could see them fight, to keep it fair. Yeah, and taking down a bully jock in front of all his cronies would just win him over. Sam sighed and shook his head, turning away from the busted door.

Their new room was at the far end, where Dean wouldn't be forced to park next to any other car unless he wanted to. Sam entered the room, expecting to see Dean still sitting on the side of the bed. Instead the room was empty, with the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

"I'm back!" Sam called out loudly, not wanting to be mistaken for an intruder. He set the food up on the dresser with the bottles of juice lined up behind the donut box. Taking a couple of donuts, Sam opened a bottle of juice and sat on the end of his bed. He found himself staring at the bathroom door, wondering how bad Dean had to feel this morning.

Since Dean actually accepted two painkillers first thing after waking up, he had to be in a lot of pain. Not to mention needing to be helped out of bed. Crap. Why hadn't Sam insisted on the ER last night? He would be willing to bet one of those guys had hit Dean directly on his busted collarbone.

The bathroom door opened slowly. Dean stepped out, not meeting Sam's evaluating gaze. He was moving stiff and slow this morning, which shouldn't have been surprising but still caught Sam a little off-guard. His hair was still dry, but he wore clean clothes.

"Laundry tomorrow?" Dean said conversationally, as if he wanted to avoid any real topics.

"Yeah, I'm pretty much out of clean clothes," Sam replied. He had maybe one clean shirt left and that was it. "If you like, you can drop me off and come back in a couple of hours."

Dean's eyes locked on to him. "You're offering to do my laundry?" he demanded.

Sam shrugged and nodded. "Sure, why not?"

Dean glared back. "Why? Because I'm a freaking invalid?"

Oh, double-frigging crap. The pain pills must not be working yet. "No," Sam said slowly. "Maybe because you're working to support us and I'd like to help out." Sam shrugged at him. "It's not like you'll let me get a job."

The pissed off expression faded. Dean gave him a tight nod before diving into the donuts. "Well, maybe I'll just sit there and keep you company." He shot Sam a glare. "And make sure you don't turn any of my shirts pink."

Sam grinned in response. "Like you'd be able to stop me."

"Try it," Dean snapped, but at least he didn't sound mad now and the skin around his eyes relaxed.

Sam had a comeback ready, but there was a heavy knock on the door. Dean glared at the intrusion.

"Don't tell me they're here already," he growled, his eyes narrowing on the door.

"It's after noon, Dean," Sam informed him. While Dean's eyes widened and he studied his watch, Sam stood to open the door.

Dad seemed to fill the doorway. He shifted uneasily from foot to foot. "Hey, Sam."

"Hey, Dad," Sam replied with a smile. Reinforcements had arrived. Sam practically fell into the hesitant embrace, gratified when Dad hugged him back with the same enthusiasm.

A grin lit Dad's face as Sam pulled away. "Dean," he rumbled, turning to look at Dean who was sitting down on the bed. "No hug?"

Dean shook his head. "I'll pass."

The smile faded and Dad shot Sam a questioning look, similar to the one from Dean's birthday dinner. Then Dad reached out to grab Sam's chin and tilt his head back. "What happened?" he demanded.

"Fight," Dean answered before Sam had a chance. "We should move."

"Where was the fight?" Dad asked. "In the other room, when somebody broke in?"

Dean shook his head as he stuffed an entire donut in his mouth, which Sam took as his cue to pick up the story. "At Billy's," Sam replied.

Dad frowned at him. "That a friend of yours or Dean's?"

Dean grunted and rolled his eyes.

"It's where Dean works, Dad." Sam couldn't help the tone of his voice. Really? Dad didn't even know where Dean worked? Please! "You didn't know that?"

"Sam!" Dean snapped from the bed, where he had not moved.

Sam bit his lower lip, regretting his slip-up. He hated when Dean was in a nasty mood, because it meant he had to be on his best behavior. Damn. That might have been a good point in his paper, about how he never had to worry about being himself when Dean was around and feeling well, which was most of the time. However when Dean felt bad both he and Dad had to watch what they said and how they said it, or they wound up on the receiving end of Dean's temper, which neither of them could stand.

"No, it's all right, Dean," Dad said in a smooth, sure voice. He moved to sit beside Dean, on his good side. "Sam's right, that's something I ought to know." One hand reached up to stroke over the top of Dean's head. "How're you feeling, son? And don't give me any 'I'm fine' crap either, or you'll be hitting the floor doing one-armed push-ups until you pass out."

Dean's shoulders instantly relaxed at the rebuke. "I've been better," he muttered.

"And?" Dad prompted, his voice still calm but strong and clearly demanding. Dean shrugged his good shoulder. "Been back to the doc yet? Since last night?"

Dean's face soured and he shook his head.

"Well, you are now," Dad announced and Sam felt a rush of relief. "I have a feeling you won't be up to working tonight either, so you better go ahead and call in."

Now Dean fixed Dad with a steady glare. "We can't afford the doctor or for me to screw up this 'sweet' set-up."

Sam expected Dad to go off on Dean after that, but he didn't. Instead he smiled and ran his hand up to Dean's neck where it rested for a moment. "Then we'll just move on to the next town. I figured out a way to scam credit card companies. If you're interested I'll show you later."

The tension eased from Dean's face. "Does this mean I won't have to find a job next place we move?"

Dad chuckled at him. "Depends on how long we'll be staying, but really, I'll leave that up to you."

"And how are we going to pay our part at the ER?" Sam asked. "They already have Dean's real name there."

Dad shrugged. "I'll figure something out. Don't worry about it, Sam." He turned back to Dean. "You said you got me and Caleb our own room."

Dean motioned towards his wallet. "Next door."

Sam rushed over to retrieve the key and hand it over to Dad. Dad took it as he looked Sam in the eye. "When you're ready to take Dean in to get checked out, come beat on my door."

"I'm ready," Sam said quickly.

Dad stood slowly, the echoes of pain flitting across his features. "I don't think Dean is. Give him at least twenty minutes to finish waking up, then come get me."

Sam nodded in acknowledgement, his relief palatable. Now how the hell could Dad tell Dean had just woken up when he had no idea where Dean worked? How could he be so damned observant and yet so oblivious? The man was an enigma, but right now Sam wouldn't trade him for anything in the world.


	19. Ch 19:Family Relations

Sorry for the delay, but we're nearing the end.

**Chapter 19:Family Relations**

The ER doc was furious that Dean had been in a fight again. Sam had expected Dean's snarky reply, but not the way Dad responded.

Dad shot Dean the 'shut up' glare, which earned him a nasty look, until the doctor left. Then Dad simply sat next to Dean and leaned briefly into his good side. "Hurts like a bitch, right, son?"

Dean rolled his eyes and shrugged his good shoulder. "I've felt worse."

Dad slapped Dean gently on the side of the head. "Better not," he growled.

Dean's pissed-off expression cracked with a small grin. "Or else what?" he challenged Dad. "Laps?"

Dad grinned back. "And push-ups."

Sam wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it with his own eyes. After Dad's rebuke, Dean smiled a real smile and relaxed. "Yes, sir."

Dad ran his hand over Dean's head again, which Sam then realized was a substitute for the hug Dad wanted to give Dean but couldn't. It very nearly brought him to tears. Sam slipped out of the ER exam room to pull himself together. When he returned, Dad left with a mumbled excuse about coffee.

"Sam?" Dean motioned for him to come closer. "What is it? You're not mad at Dad for something, are ya?"

Sam shook his head quickly, not understanding why Dean would ask that question.

"Then what's wrong with you?" Dean demanded. "You mad at me?" His eyes widened. "Dude, I should be ticked off with you, jumping in between me and that gorilla last night."

Sam rolled his eyes as he sat on the end of the exam bed. "You were down, Dean. What was I supposed to do?"

"Let me handle it," Dean replied. Sam rolled his eyes again. "As much as I hate to admit it," Dean said, clearing his throat, "you were pretty good last night, Sam."

Sam felt the grin forced on to his face. "Yeah?" he asked.

Dean chuckled, one knee lifting to nudge him in the ribs. "Yeah. For a bratty kid." He jerked his head at the exit. "So why'd you take off like that?"

Sam shrugged, relaxing against Dean's knee. "No reason. Bored," he lied. Sam would rather eat broken glass than admit to his big brother that he had had to leave or risk crying in front of his family, especially over a stupid thing like a hug.

"Bored?" One of Dean's eyebrows lifted, but he didn't press. "You're not mad at anyone? Or everything?"

Sam shook his head again, still grinning. "Nah."

"You're sure?" Dean asked, his voice borderline demanding. "Because Dad and Caleb are going to be sticking around for at least a couple of weeks."

"Good." Sam locked eyes with his brother. "Dad can make you take the painkillers. You won't do it for me."

Dean rolled his eyes again as his smile returned. "Pain in my ass," he grumbled. At least this was normal.

A throat clearing announced Dad's return. "Found some coffee," he muttered as he walked in holding three steaming styrofoam cups.

"You know those aren't biodegradable," Sam informed their father as he accepted his coffee.

Dad snorted lightly at him before settling down in the only chair. Dean chuckled, still allowing Sam to lean against his legs. The next half hour or so, while they waited for the results of the new x-ray, was unbelievably pleasant. They all joked around and generally just enjoyed each other's company. Dad asked about the mathlete thing, but Sam hadn't been to a meeting yet so he couldn't tell his father much. He was a little surprised Dad even knew about it because it meant Dad and Dean had been talking on the phone when he wasn't around. The new knowledge made Sam feel even more comfortable.

* * *

John pulled the Impala up to where his sons waited outside the ER entrance. He would have to pick up some kind of job locally to pay Dean's hospital bills, from last time and today, but it would be worth it. Now he understood why Dean had been in such a hurry to leave, not to mention in such a _mood_. But Sammy? Sammy was the one who always wanted to stay, especially when he had extracurricular activities.

The boys slid heavily into the car, Sam with a small relaxed smile and Dean's eyes slightly glazed over from the heavy hospital pain meds.

"We should get pizza," Dean said when his door was closed. "There's a hot chick who works there. She wants me."

John shook his head and chuckled as he pulled out. "Maybe you need a nap."

"Won't help," Sam informed him. "Those drugs make Dean totally stoned. He'll be like this for hours. Trust me."

John glanced over as a wide grin spread across Dean's face. "I have a feeling this is going to be as much fun as a concussion," he said as he turned into Saturday afternoon traffic.

"Actually it's better," Sam informed him from hanging over the front seat. "You don't have to worry about waking him up every couple of hours."

Dean chuckled. "I could totally work like this. It'd be fun."

"No," Sam's voice blended with John's, much to John's shock.

"You said you didn't want to get fired," Sam argued in the tone which always hit John like nails on a chalkboard. "If you try to work like this, they'll fire you."

John was about to berate Sam for speaking to Dean that way, even though he happened to agree this time.

"Yeah, I know." Dean let out a light laugh, the first one John had heard in quite some time. "It'd be fun, and then we'd have to move." Then Dean sighed, the smile dropping off his face. "And I'll get to move your records, set you up in a new school, deal with a new principal and school counselor who think I'm a total low-life..." His voice trailed off into another soft sigh.

John waited for his eldest to continue, but he fell silent, staring out the window at the passing scenery, such as it was. John stopped at a traffic light. "Dean?" he asked, turning to look at his son. "Was there anything else?"

Dean turned glazed eyes on him. "Anything else?" he parroted. "For what?"

One of Sam's hands reached over the back of the seat to pat Dean's good shoulder. "Nothing, Dean. It's all right."

John's gaze shifted to Sam. "He will be back to normal tomorrow, right?"

Sam grinned. "Yeah, Dad. Don't worry. Dean'll be his normal pain-in-the-ass self by morning."

A horn honked from behind them. John pulled through the intersection; they were nearly at the motel.

"Oh, damn it," Sam muttered as they pulling into the parking lot.

"Now what?" John demanded, throwing the big car into park.

"Oh, uh..." Sam swallowed hard, like he hadn't meant to sound quite so harsh. "Well, it's just that Dean's supposed to be paid today, and we're kind of out of clean clothes..."

"We can do laundry today," Dean mumbled, tugging his wallet out. "Good tips last night."

John sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. "Dean. Haven't we talked about when you're out of money? You're supposed to let me know."

Dean's face soured. "Why?"

"Why?" John repeated, staring at his son incredulously. "So I can send you money, that's why."

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes. He fumbled with the door handle, his left hand reaching awkwardly across his body. John grabbed his arm and pulled it away from the door. Frustrated his own son hadn't believed his promise from years ago, John felt like shaking Dean, but he leaned over to open the passenger door instead. They could talk later, after the meds wore off.

* * *

Sam felt strange doing his and Dean's laundry with Dad for company. Actually, it was the only way Dean would stay at the motel and rest, if Dad went along to make sure Sam didn't turn his underwear pink. Dad hadn't had much to say since they arrived, except for 'got the quarters' and 'pass the detergent.'

As the washing machines came to life with a rumble and groan, Sam took a seat with his library book. Dad leaned against one of the washers.

"So," he said in a clear strong voice, "how's the paper coming?"

Sam looked up from his book. "Oh, uh, I finished it." He shrugged, hoping Dad wouldn't press for too many details.

"How'd you end it?" Dad asked. Sam looked up again. "With the comparisons. Did you put in that part about, uh, Dean...?" Dad seemed uncomfortable. "Dean being a better parent?" Dad's expression seemed to dare Sam to argue the point with him.

Sam closed his book slowly as he shook his head. "I couldn't do that."

Dad's brow creased and his eyes narrowed slightly. "Why not? It's the truth."

Sam chewed his lower lip for a moment before responding. "Because Dean wouldn't want to see that," he admitted. "I'm planning on giving my paper to him."

"Oh." Dad nodded as his gaze drifted out the window. "So what did you say? Or did you skip over the part about Dean being...you know."

"Skipped it," Sam confirmed. "Actually, I said..." He hesitated. "Maybe I should just let you read it."

"Dean's copy?" Dad asked. "Or will I get my own?"

"Well, I was planning on fixing the mistakes and rewriting it for Dean. I can make a copy for you too, if you want," Sam offered.

Dad gave him a small smile. "I'd like that. Thanks, son." Dad held out a hand. "I promised Dean I'd try not to argue while we're all kind of stuck here."

Sam heard the implied question: would he do the same? Sam stood to shake his father's hand. "Me too."

Dad chuckled as he released Sam's hand. "Dean can be thorough."

Sam returned Dad's grin. "Yeah, he can be. Usually just with girls, though. Why do you let him act like a dog in heat all the time? If anyone could make him stop, it'd be you."

Dad shrugged, leaning back on the washer. "Part of his charm, son. It's just part of his charm." Dad's arms crossed over his chest. "So what all have you two been up to lately? Don't leave anything out." One hand patted the washing machine. "We're going to be here for a while. I brought mine and Caleb's clothes too."

Sam set his book aside. He hadn't expected this to turn into the bonding-time-with-Dad Dean had been pushing for. "Not much," he told Dad; before having to explain about his principal and the social worker, the jocks out to get him, the assholes after Dean, and the reasons Dean wanted him to finish out the school year here.

They shifted the wet clothes into the dryers. "Not much, huh?" Dad asked in a hard voice. "Damn it, Sam, if I'd realized what all was going on here..." He shook his head.

"But I called you," Sam argued. "I told you what was happening and I know you've been talking to Dean when I wasn't around."

Dad's gaze hardened on him before slamming the quarters into the machine. "I'm not arguing with you, Sam," he replied in a low growl.

Sam retreated to his chair and book. He buried his nose in the chapter about rural societies planting trees near loved ones' graves.

"I meant," Dad interrupted his reading, "that if I'd thought any of those guys were after either of you, I would've come back."

Sam weighed whether or not he wanted to admit his suspicions. "I think Dean knew. He was always checking out the window and looking over his shoulder like he was being followed."

Dad ran a hand through his hair. "Sounds about right," he said with a nod. "But he never said anything to me about it." Dad pointed a finger at him. "Neither did you, for that matter."

"I know," Sam replied. He set his book on his lap before rubbing his sweaty palms off on his jeans. "I wasn't sure, but that's why I went to work with Dean last night."

"To watch his back." Dad's smile was proud as he gave Sam a single nod. "Looks like we raised you right, son."

It was the most praise he had heard from their father in a while. Embarrassed, Sam's eyes dropped back down to his book.

"Looks interesting," Dad said, walking over to sit beside him. Dad took the book out of his lap. "Huh. Any good information in here?"

"Plenty," Sam replied, relieved to be on the solid footing of research now. "Check this out." Sam flipped back a couple of chapters to show Dad information he thought could be useful.

* * *

Caleb sat on the end of Sam's bed watching a cheesy 70s sitcom. Daytime TV sucked. He heard a rustling sound from behind him. Caleb turned to see Dean blinking his eyes, which were still glazed over from the meds. He had heard what Dean was like with a concussion, and Sam claimed this was worse, so Caleb was anxious to see for himself.

"Hey, man," he said, moving to sit on the end of Dean's bed. "How're you feeling?"

Dean blinked at him a few times before looking around the room and frowning. "Where's Sam?"

He sounded perfectly normal. "With your dad at the laundry-mat. Are you going to tell me how the shoulder is or what?"

"Whoa," Dean breathed out, his eyes widening. One hand pointed at the muted television. A woman mopped the kitchen floor in a commercial.

"What?" Caleb asked, eyes searching the far wall for signs of spirit activity.

"She's hot."

Caleb turned back to see if Dean was serious. Damn. He was! He sat there staring at the television as if it was sucking him in. Then a fast food commercial came on.

"Uh-oh," Dean muttered, looking around again. "Where's Sam?"

"Not here," Caleb stated clearly.

"Good." Dean waved his good hand at the commercial. "He hates frigging clowns."

Dean's voice lacked its usual hard tone, making him sound more like a kid. Even when Dean had been just a kid, younger than Sam was now, he had never sounded like this. No wonder it tended to freak John and Sam out; not that any of them would admit it. Oh, no. Freaking out was not the Winchester style. Which was the real reason, Caleb suspected, he was here and the other two Winchesters were washing clothes.

"Does your shoulder hurt?" Caleb tried, going for the direct approach.

A silly grin spread over Dean's face. "Nah, dude. Everything is awesome." His eyes wandered over the room again. "So where's Sam?"

Even drugged out of his gourd, Dean had a one-track mind. "With your dad." Caleb figured that answer ought to settle him down.

Dean's head cocked to one side and his lop-sided grin appeared. "How long?"

Caleb checked his watch. "About an hour. Why?"

"Phone." Dean was still grinning, so Caleb handed it over. He frowned as he stared at it before holding it up. "Call Dad for me. I can't read the numbers."

Caleb took the phone to scroll through Dean's phone list. "Why do you want to call him? I'm sure Sam's fine; he's with your Dad."

Dean snorted. "It's not Sam I'm worried about. Hurry up." His gaze diverted. "God."

Caleb figured it was probably just more floor cleaner. He found John's number and called it while Dean stared open mouthed at the television.

"Dean?" John asked.

"No, it's me. Dean wants to talk to you, though." Caleb glanced back. Pantyhose commercial. Lots of legs.

"So put him on," John snapped.

"Yeah, just a second. He's watching a commercial," he explained.

"A commercial?" John asked. Then Caleb could hear Sam's voice in the background. "Oh. All right, when it's over hand him the phone and turn off the TV." A long sigh sounded through the phone. "Will it be much longer?"

"Almost over," Caleb assured him. "Keep your panties on, John."

When Dean looked around the room again, Caleb realized the commercial must be over. "Where's Sam?"

"Here." Caleb thrust the phone in Dean's hand before walking over to the television set to turn it off.

"Sam? … Oh, hey, Dad. Do you know where Sam is? … No. You called me, remember? … What? Look, do you know where Sam is or not? … Yes, I'd like to talk to him." Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Sam? … Shut up, Sammy. Just tell me you're not starting anything with Dad. … No, I don't. … What? Yes I have the stupid sling on. What's that got to do with- … Whatever. And you'd better not be turnin' my stuff pink, because if you do … Put Dad back on. … Dad? Best behavior, right? … Good. Or I'll, uh..." Dean frowned as he focused on Caleb. "What were we talking about?"

Caleb wrung the phone from Dean's hand. "John? It's me."

"Just make sure he doesn't hurt himself." John sounded weary. "We'll try not to take too long. If Dean gives you any grief, try telling him whatever you need him to do is an order from me."

"Gotcha. Oh, and don't turn any of his whites pink," Caleb warned. "I don't think you're above retaliation, John."

"Caleb." John sighed. "Shut up."

The phone went dead in his hand. Caleb chuckled as he dropped it on the nightstand. "So. Want to go rent some movies? I'm sure we can find some with hot chicks."

"You buyin'?" Dean demanded.

Caleb pulled out his wallet to see how much he had in cash. "Twenty bucks," he announced. "But I drive."

"Not my car," Dean said defensively.

"Mine isn't here," Caleb argued. "I promise, I'll be extra careful."

Dean glared as he rested back against the pillows. "Dude, I've seen your car."

"Oh!" Caleb pressed a hand over his heart. "That hurt!"

"Truth does," Dean replied, his head bobbing slowly. "Know what else hurts? Busted collarbone."

"Yeah?" Caleb sank down to sit on the foot of Dean's bed. "Pretty bad?"

"Like a bitch," Dean told him. "Worse when some jackass principal grabs it." He shuddered. "Dude, it hurts just thinking about it."

"Sam's principal?" Caleb asked. Dean required a moment to nod. "Why would he do that?"

"'Cos we were leavin'. Guy was acting like a jackass." Dean gave him a slow nod. "But I guess he's all right now. He tackled this jock going after Sammy."

"Are we still talking about Sam's principal?" Caleb demanded. Dean nodded again, eyes wide and slightly unfocused. "What kind of school is Sam going to? No wonder you want to move."

Dean chuckled. "Nah, didn't happen at school. Sam's principal and the CPS dude were hangin' out at my work, checkin' to see if I really had a job." His face soured. "Guess I don't look the type for gainful employment."

"Now, Dean..." Caleb started to argue.

"Nah, they're right." Dean squinted at him, attempting to focus. "I'm tellin' ya, havin' a job is more trouble than it's worth. If it weren't for the damn job, we coulda left by now. But no!" Dean's eyes rolled. "You and Dad just had to tackle a friggin' Wendigo. Alone. Let it do a number on ya." His expression changed again. "Dude, how bad did it get ya?"

Caleb motioned to his left arm. "Clawed from shoulder to about here." He pointed to a spot halfway between his elbow and wrist. "John's worse. Most of his back."

Dean's eyes rolled again. "Figures," he grumbled. "No wonder he wanted me to go to the ER. He needed meds, right?" The sour expression returned. "I tell ya, Caleb, if Sam ever takes off, it's gonna be because of Dad."

Caleb laughed at the suggestion. "Oh, you won't let that happen, Dean."

"No?" Dean asked. "Watch me." His free arm wrapped over the other in a stubborn pose as his eyes wandered through the room. "Anything on TV?"

"Not really," Caleb replied slowly. "Why?"

"Dude. Do you know where Sam is?"

Caleb stood to turn the television back on. "Let's see if there's something on that doesn't suck."

"Whoa! Dude, move!" Dean shouted.

Caleb shifted to the side as he looked down at the flickering screen. Another pantyhose commercial. It was going to be a looooong hour until John and Sam came back. While they watched some moronic sitcom with a hot blond, Caleb wondered if he should tell John some of the things Dean had said. In the end, Caleb decided to chalk it up to the pain meds, that Dean hadn't really meant any of it. Besides, he doubted Dean would remember any of it by morning.


	20. Ch 20:Conclusion

And so all good things must come to an end. A HUGE Thank-You to everyone who has followed this and those of you who have been so gracious with your continued support and encouragement. (That includes you too, Mom.) Thanks again to you all!

**Chapter 20: Conclusion**

Sam found it a little odd that all of his teachers walked by him slowly, checking the bruises on his face, without asking about them. Maybe Principal Jones had kept his promise about talking to them all first. Strange, but it was a relief. He didn't have to come up with a cover story, or tell the truth and let the teacher think he was a liar or neglected child seeking attention. As if. With Dean around, he probably received more attention than all of his classmates combined. There were days he wished he could _duck_ attention.

When Sam walked into his English classroom, he was curious to see if Justin Reynolds would be there. Justin's seat was empty. Wondering if the moron had finally managed to get himself expelled (and, regardless of how much money his father had, a fist fight with the principal ought to do it), Sam slid into his seat.

"Psst! Sam!" Gerald Walker waved a hand at him. Sam turned to see what he wanted. "Did ya hear about Einstein?" He motioned to the empty seat behind Sam.

Sam shook his head.

"Expelled!" Walker chuckled, his eyes dancing as he leaned over the empty desk between them. "About time, too!"

"About time for class?" Mister Moore interrupted. "Yes, I think it is. Mister Walker, please keep your gossip confined to the hallways."

Walker shrank back with a shrug to take his English book out of his bag. Another student ran in to sit in the empty desk between Sam and Walker as the bell rang.

"I'd like you all to appreciate the fact that I spent the weekend grading your papers." Mister Moore pulled a thick sheaf out of his desk. "But I know you don't. However, I will say that overall I was quite impressed. Most of you took this assignment seriously, and a few of you humorously. One or two of you will be rewriting it." He started walking up and down the rows of desks, returning the graded papers. "I actually enjoyed seeing the comparisons you all made within your families."

Mister Moore paused by Sam's desk as he held out the graded paper. "I really hope you're planning on letting your brother read this."

Sam nodded seriously. "After I fix the corrections."

Mister Moore did not release it. "Don't," he said. "Just give it to him like this." Sam opened his mouth to argue but his teacher shook his head. "Trust me, Sam. Let him see it with the red ink. He'll appreciate it more if it's the version you turned in."

Sam took his paper from his teacher's hand. Mister Moore passed out the rest, making a comment here and there, but Sam wasn't listening. He was busy checking the few English corrections and Mister Moore's comment after his conclusion: _I sure could use one. Where can I find my own Dean?_

Sam chuckled and folded his paper in half, leaving the big red 'A' on the outside. If he decided to give it to Dean like this, warts and all, he wanted his grade to be the first thing his brother saw. While Mister Moore taught the rest of class, Sam pondered on whether or not to give his paper to Dean as is.

When class was over, Sam packed his things slowly, intentionally trying to be the last person out the door. He paused by Mister Moore's desk.

"Yes, Sam?" Mister Moore asked, looking up at him.

Sam held up his paper. "I kind of promised my dad a copy too. I was going to just recopy it twice-"

"Copy? Sure, no problem." Mister Moore jumped up. "Follow me."

Sam hurried to keep up as Mister Moore charged through the halls, pressing between students in a rush to leave.

"I'm glad you're going to give it to him like this," his English teacher was saying over the dull roar of teen voices. "Now he won't think you changed it to take out things he won't like."

Oh. Sam hadn't really thought of that. Dean already thought he was being kept from reading the paper, so he probably would think Sam had made a 'clean' version. Mister Moore had just saved him from a whole lot of grief, not to mention the effort of recopying his paper twice.

They stepped out of the noisy hall into an office area Sam had not been in before. There were two copiers. "How many copies do you want?" Mister Moore asked.

"Oh, uh, just one." Sam held it out. "For Dad."

Mister Moore nodded as he laid Sam's paper on the copier. "Principal Jones mentioned that your brother has custody, but you didn't put that in your paper." He glanced over at Sam as he flipped to the second page. "May I ask why not?"

Sam weighed the question as the room filled with the noise of the copier working. "Dad thought I should, but I didn't think Dean would appreciate it."

Mister Moore nodded as he scooped up the copies. He held them out to Sam. "There you are, Sam. I don't know your brother, but I can pretty much guarantee he'll like this."

"Thanks, Mister Moore," Sam replied as he accepted the papers. He stuffed them inside his bag before settling it on his shoulder.

"See you tomorrow?" the English teacher asked. Sam gave him a quizzical look. "According to your paper, you move a lot."

Sam chuckled. He had forgotten mentioning their nomadic lifestyle. "Yeah. I might even be here until summer. Dean doesn't want to move all my records before school starts in the fall."

"Good." Mister Moore clapped him on the shoulder as they exited into the hall. "I'm looking forward to your next paper. I'm thinking of assigning a persuasive paper on the best or worst holiday."

Sam shook his head, already knowing his would be on Halloween if it was worst holiday. "Bye, Mister Moore."

"Tomorrow, Sam!" he called out.

Sam dumped the books he didn't need off at his locker and double-checked he had what he needed for homework. His first mathlete meeting was this afternoon, in about five minutes. Sam slung his bag back over his shoulder before threading his way through the after school stragglers for the math department.

* * *

Dean stretched out in the backseat, waiting on Sam. The geeky math club meeting was today. On the one hand he hoped it would be too dorky for Sam to keep going, but on the other hand, it would be kind of cool to watch Sam stomp kids from other schools, even if it was in math.

He allowed his eyes to slip shut, planning on napping while waiting on Sam. Sure, he knew when the geek-fest was supposed to be over and could have come later, but that meant hanging out with Dad and Caleb. Normally the prospect would have Dean practically slobbering, but right now he really did not feel like it. He wasn't sure if it was his busted collarbone, the meds Dad kept shoving down his throat, or the weird truce between Dad and Sam. Caleb had been treating him differently too, like their friend had to walk on eggshells. And Dad? That man was a piece of work. Dad seemed to be going out of his freaking way not to say or do anything to annoy Dean, and it was driving him nuts.

Whatever. Wasn't his fault everyone was acting like a weirdo. He had actually been relieved to go to work today, to get an escape from it. At work the customers bitched and complained and were freaking normal. At least the sling was still working, tips had been good. His manager had made a comment about all of them needing slings. Dean had offered to trade collarbones on the spot. His manager made a strange face before spotting something behind the bar that needed attention.

Dean was still totaling up all the ways his family had been freaking weird since Dad and Caleb showed up when he heard a knocking on the window. He cracked his eyes open to find Sam peering down at him. What the hell? Why wasn't he at the mathlete thing? Dean sat slowly to unlock the passenger door. Sam opened the door with a frown.

"Dean? What're you doing back there?" He tossed his school bag into the front floorboard.

"Relaxing," Dean snapped. "You're supposed to be at the geek-fest. What happened?"

Sam shrugged. "It's over, Dean."

"Huh?" Dean looked down at his watch. "Damn. Is that the time?"

Sam laughed at him. "Yeah, man, that's the time. Can I drive home?"

Dean started to argue, but it wasn't a bad idea. Besides, the kid could use some practice. "Keys are in the ignition. You put a scratch on my baby, you die." He laid back down.

"Really?" He could hear Sam sliding into the driver's seat. "Dean?"

Dean opened his eyes to look up into Sam's worried face. "What?" he snapped. He had been learning to really hate that worried look.

"Are you feeling okay? I mean, you don't usually give in this fast on letting me drive," Sam said.

"Fine." Dean grabbed the back of the front seat to pull himself up. "I can drive if you don't-"

"No! No, it's fine." Sam spun around in the driver's seat to start the car. "I got it."

Dean smiled to himself as he relaxed in the back seat. Now he had a personal chauffeur. Maybe Sam would fetch supper tonight too.

"Oh, hey, Dean." He cracked his eyes open. Sam was hanging over the back of the seat again. "Here. You said you wanted to read it."

Dean frowned as he took the folded paper from Sam's hand. A large red 'A' was printed on it. "What's this?" he demanded.

"My paper," Sam replied. Dean felt the Impala shift into reverse. He waited until after Sam had backed out and the car was in drive before sitting up.

"Which one?" he asked as he settled against the side, his legs stretched out on the seat.

"What do you mean, which one?" Sam demanded, sounding like his usual whiny-ass self. Thank God.

Dean opened the folded paper. He might not have enough time to read the whole thing before they made it home. Still unsure if he actually wanted to read it, Dean folded it back up. "So what did you say?"

"Just read it, Dean," Sam insisted. "You said you wanted to. I even made a copy for Dad."

Dean's gaze shifted to look at Sam in the rearview mirror. Sam seemed serious. "Really?"

"He asked for a copy. Besides, he kind of helped out with my notes," Sam replied.

"Dad helped with your homework?" Dean asked in disbelief. "When the hell did that happen?"

Sam tossed him a grin. "I couldn't sleep on that damn camp bed and went outside for some air. Dad followed me."

"You took your homework with you?" Sammy was way too serious about freaking school. "Seriously?"

Sam nodded at him. "Seriously. Go ahead and read it. My teacher talked me out of recopying it and correcting the mistakes. He said you'd like this version better."

"Your teacher thinks I'll like it?" Dean stared at the paper in his hand, still not convinced he would like anything it had to say. Why would he want to see how he stacked up against Dad? It was pretty clear who the winner would be, especially considering how Sam had freaked over the whole custody thing.

"Yeah." Sam turned to hang over the seat. "Are you going to read it or what?"

Dean glanced around. They were in the motel parking lot. That was quick. He started to stuff it in his jacket pocket. "Maybe later."

Sam's bitchface came out in full force. "Dude, you were giving me grief the whole freaking time I was working on it. Now read it."

"You're gonna sit there and watch me read it?" Dean demanded.

"Well, uh..." Sam appeared indecisive for a moment, then his features steeled. "Yes. Now read it."

Taking a deep breath to fortify his resolve, Dean opened the paper again. The first paragraph puzzled him. Yin and yang? No wonder Sam was a frigging mathlete, he was a total geek. A snort burst out when he read the part about him being the balance in the family. Yeah, right. How out of whack would that make them, if he was the freaking balance? The next part compared him and Dad physically.

"You think I'll look more like Dad than you?" he asked as his eyes dropped to the third paragraph.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Probably."

Dean kept reading. He had been ready to ask a whole bunch of questions, until he hit Sam's conclusion.

_In conclusion, the balance in our family is my brother Dean. Although my Dad is the one who makes all the decisions and I am the one who has all the demands, it is Dean who exerts the control and finds a balance between us. Dad orders us to move; Dean pulls my school records, packs us up, enrolls me in the new school, buys our clothes (mine and Dad's), does the grocery shopping, and generally makes sure everything is the way it needs to be. Dean says Dad and I are too much alike and that's why we tend to argue, so it is Dean who mediates and makes sure our arguments do not spin out of control. All families may find a balance, if they're lucky, but not all families have a Dean. Too bad for them._

Underneath it in red was some comment from his teacher about finding a Dean for his family.

Lucky? To have him? Honestly, it had never occurred to Dean before that they might really need him. Well, yeah, they needed him, to hold down a job and pay for the rooms, move Sam's school records, but ...

"Well?" Sam asked anxiously. "Too chick-flick?"

_Too bad for them._

Hastily Dean flipped the top page back and folded the paper up. He shrugged with his good shoulder as he moved to exit the car. "Let's go. Dad's probably waiting on us. Any homework?"

It took some effort to keep his voice steady. Unflinching, Dean met Sam's anxious gaze. "Well?" he said in his most demanding tone.

"Uh, a little," Sam stammered. "Um, just history. No big deal." His brow furrowed deeply.

"Good." Dean stepped out of the car. "So you want to eat out tonight?"

"On a Monday?" Sam asked as he locked up the car. "Really?"

"Did I stutter?" Dean demanded. "Yes or no, answer the damn question."

"Yeah, sure," Sam replied with a grin spreading across his face. "Does this mean you liked my paper?"

"Shut up and see if Dad wants to go with us," Dean snapped.

Sam paused before knocking on the door next to their room. "You do know what Dad'll say if he hears you talking like that?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "'Take a pain pill, take a pain pill.' He's turning into a freaking broken record."

"I know," Sam replied. "It's good to hear." Dean shot his brother the nastiest look he could muster. "It means he cares, Dean. That's all I meant."

"Such a girl," Dean scoffed. He would have to sneak out of the room late tonight, so he could hide Sam's paper in the trunk. No way was he giving this sucker up; there was no telling if any member of his family would actually express any kind of appreciation again.

* * *

A few years later...

* * *

Dean sighed as he removed Sam's old English paper from the trunk for the third time this week. He missed that kid, but it was okay as long as Sam was safe at school and happy. At least, he hoped Sam was happy.

Carrying the paper to his motel room, Dean crashed on the bed to read it over again. When he reached the part comparing him with Dad physically, Dean couldn't help looking in the mirror. Maybe if he left just a little facial hair, to give himself the rugged look, he would look more like Dad. His cell went off before he could read the best part, at the end.

"Yeah?" he asked as he held the phone to his ear.

"Dean, how'd the hunt go?" Dad demanded. "You are done?"

"Yeah, Dad," Dean sighed, dropping the paper so he could run a hand down his face. "Just a salt-n-burn. No problem."

"No problems?" Dad sounded worried. "You sure? You're not hurt or anything?"

"I'm sure," Dean assured his father as he reached for Sam's paper. "No sweat."

Dad sighed long and loud. "You're reading it again, aren't you?"

Dean stopped to look around the room for hidden cameras. "How do you do that?"

A dark chuckle sounded through the phone. "I can hear it in your voice. Listen son, let's meet up. I could use some back-up on a new hunt anyway."

Dean nodded his head even though Dad couldn't see him (he hoped). "Sure, Dad. Sounds good. Where?"

"Do you remember that burger joint with the hot waitresses and peanut shells on the floor?" Dad asked.

Dean's spine stiffened. "Yeah. Why?"

"Well, according to my calendar, it's pretty damn close to someone's birthday."

Dean chuckled. "Is it January?"

"Yeah, Dean. It's January. We'll take a couple days off and get good and plowed before tackling the next hunt. How's that sound?"

Actually, it did sound pretty good. "Sure, Dad. Uh, Dad? Afterwards, can we...?"

"Sure, Dean," Dad replied without hesitation. "It's time to check on Sammy too. See you in a day or two?"

"Yeah, great. See you, Dad." Dean closed his cell to drop it with a clatter on the nightstand. Wait a minute. Had Dad said it was time to check on Sammy "too"? As in Dad was checking up on _him_? Well, that was a switch.

Dean, still covered in sweat and dirt from the salt and burn, stretched out on the motel bed. He decided to read Sam's paper from the beginning, hopefully without interruptions this time.

* * *

Sam stared at his cell phone, wondering if it would ring. It was almost Dean's birthday. Surely his brother would call then.

"Sam?" Jessica's voice startled him. "Are you all right? You're just staring, not studying."

"Oh, uh, yeah." Sam's head bobbed. "No problem. I was, uh, thinking."

Jessica slid into the seat across from him at the kitchen table. "About?" When Sam did not answer right away, her warm soft hand slipped into his and squeezed. "What's bothering you, Sam?"

Sam forced a smile on his face. "I was just wondering what to get you for your birthday."

"You're a terrible liar, Sam," Jessica chided.

Oh, if only she knew how good he really was. Sam ducked his head as if he had been caught in a huge lie. "I was just thinking about my brother, Dean."

"What about him?" she asked with a quizzical look.

Sam shrugged. "Just wondering where he might be," he lied, though that thought had crossed his mind almost weekly since arriving at Stanford.

"So he moves around a lot?" Jessica asked. It was a dangerous line of questioning he could see coming.

"You know, I was thinking about taking a family law class in the fall. What do you think?" he asked.

Jessica rolled her eyes and laughed at him. "Okay, Mister Secretive, you win. No more family talk. Have you bought that prep book for the LSAT yet?"

Sam shook his head. "I can't really afford it. I'm waiting for that guy Jim in my class this semester, I told you about him, to sign up for the prep class. He'll buy the prep book and I'm sure he'll let me borrow it."

"What makes you so sure?" Jessica demanded.

"Because I'll talk him into it," Sam replied with a grin.

"You silver-tongued devil you." Jessica chuckled as she leaned over to kiss him. If she ever met the real silver-tongued devils, as in the rest of his family, Sam would undoubtedly lose his title.

* * *

John lined up his shot. "How much longer?" he asked his son conversationally.

Dean checked his watch. "He has an early class tomorrow, so knowing geek-boy, he'll be in bed by ten. We should be able to see him in the apartment for sure in about an hour."

John nodded before pulling his cue back. Snapping it forward, he knocked two balls into their respective pockets. It was nice to play against Dean, who was probably better than he was, because it meant John did not need to hold back. They could play for the sheer joy of the game, which Dean enjoyed far more than he did. For John pool, poker and darts were merely a means of financial support. Dean liked playing all of them. Once John caught his son engaged in a game for the pure pleasure of it, no attempt at hustling. When he had asked about it, Dean had replied with a shrug and a grin that he had enough spending money for now.

Well, Dean had never had a real childhood, why shouldn't he enjoy a little play time now that he was not responsible for anyone else? John tried a nasty trick shot, which refused to go in.

"Rats," he sighed. He gestured to a chair. "Should I sit down now?"

Dean laughed at him, his body language relaxed and easy. Even the boy's face reflected the weight no longer on his shoulders. "Well, if you're just gonna give up."

John found himself returning the grin as he stood out of the way to admire the way Dean played. Such easy grace and obnoxious style were not a common combination. Dean was certainly one of a kind. He noticed they attracted some attention with their game and Dean's cocky attitude as they teased each other, but nothing came of it. A few girls took to walking by regularly, and John was certain one of them slipped Dean her number, but he could not prove it. Not without wrestling Dean to the ground and forcibly taking the slip of paper, which was not worth it. Besides, Dean just might be able to take him now.

Sam had been right about one thing in that paper of his from four or so years ago, not every family had a Dean, and the Winchesters were damned lucky to have this one. Too bad Sam still felt the need to shut Dean out of his college life. Surely Sam would come to realize his mistake and call his brother. Surely. In the meantime John and Dean were reduced to stalking the stubborn-ass kid at college to be sure he was safe. Well, it was not an entirely bad compromise Dean had arranged; it put both their minds at ease. The only problem was Sam. John felt certain Sam's life was unbalanced without his brother, and he had no idea how to fix it. He hoped one day the situation might fix itself.


End file.
